


Thank You Fics Round 3

by sabrecmc



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cavemen, Civil War Fix-It, Clan of the Cave Bear - Freeform, Comic Book Science, Drunk Dialing, Earth's Children - Freeform, Fanboy Tony, Fix-It, Gaslighting, Healer Tony Stark, Hurt Steve Rogers, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language Barrier, M/M, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Tony, Omega Tony Stark, One Shot Collection, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Stonyclunks, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-09-01 19:51:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 64,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16771753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/pseuds/sabrecmc
Summary: As a thank you to my followers on tumblr, I offered to write some fics based on prompts they sent.  This is the third round of those.Ch. 1:  Mob Boss Steve Rogers (sort of but not really)Ch. 2:  Ripple Effect (Post-IW Time Travel Fix-It)Ch. 3:  How to Date a Superhero Without Even Trying (MIT!Tony Drunk Dials his Ex and gets Captain America)Ch. 4: Caveman AU (A/B/O)





	1. Chapter 1

“--you not to try to jack that car, man. I told you! Now what are we going to do, huh? What’s your brilliant plan now?” someone said in a loud, agitated voice somewhere to Tony’s left as he slowly worked his way back to consciousness.

Tony kept his head down and eyes closed, the same position he’d woken in, though the world seemed determined to tilt anyway. Behind his lids, bright spots swam in a dark haze. His stomach roiled, hot and sour, though he managed to breathe in and out long enough for the feeling to dissipate, if not pass. He carefully tugged at his wrists where they were twisted behind his back and tied to the metal chair rails, testing the bonds. Zip ties. Figured. The floor was hard and rough, probably concrete. He could feel it under his shoes. 

He opened his eyes the barest amount he thought he could get away with, then closed them again. It was dark. A single light floated somewhere off to his side, giving off just enough light to make out the two figures where their shadows moved against a large window that had the blinds pulled closed. The voices echoed a bit, which meant a large space. The air was cool. Cooler than regular air conditioning would be, and other than the voices, it was quiet except for the rush of air. 

It smelled, too. Something tinny and metallic under a pungent odor of disinfectant. 

Well, _that_ certainly wasn’t calming, Tony thought, almost snorting before he caught himself.

“We could just let him go. Say we’re sorry. We--ah, we made a mistake or something, I don’t know,” another voice said, this one a little softer, a bit more hesitant, but pitched high with panic. Young, Tony thought. Too young to be caught up in whatever this was, that was for sure. 

“Let him go? So he can run back and tell on us? Oh, so sorry, Cap, we snagged your guy by accident? Sure, sure, we know about the list, but, you know, my dumbass partner couldn’t resist a _fucking Honda_ , you know how it is. Yeah, that’s going to go over real well. _Real_ well. No way, man. No way,” voice one protested, following it up with a loud scrape, followed by a bang that Tony identified as a chair being kicked across a floor and into something metal. 

Tony tried to follow the conversation, though his head was still too fuzzy to do much more than piece the jumble of words and sounds together. 

“We are so screwed,” the older one said with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah,” the younger one agreed. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. I didn’t mean to get us in trouble. I thought it’d be easy, you know? I mean, look at him! He doesn’t _look l_ ike he’d be trouble. How was I supposed to know he’d taze me or whatever the fuck that was?”

“You’re sorry? That’s all you’ve got?” the first voice demanded. “You’re sorry. Great. Just great. You’re the one who let him get the jump on you, and now, we’re going to end up on some Upper West Side pâté plate, but, hey, no worries, because Dominic is very, very sorry, Cap, can you pretty please just maybe break our knee-caps or something?”

List? Cap? What the hell, Tony wondered. None of this made sense. He licked his lips and blinked his eyes open, darting his gaze around surreptitiously while the two men argued. An office of some kind, but not the type you’d find in an office building. More like a warehouse office. Pâté, blood, disinfectant, cool air...okay, so a meatpacking warehouse. Tony knew a little something about warehouses, though not quite like this. Usually if he was tied to a chair in a warehouse office with the blinds closed and lights off, things were going a whole lot better for him, Tony thought, which made him think of Steve, of course.

He’d been near Brooklyn, heading to meet up with Steve for lunch, when Frick and Frack there pulled their little scheme to get him to stop long enough to have a gun shoved in his face, so maybe somewhere relatively nearby. At least that meant that if he could escape, raise attention or get to a phone somehow, help wasn’t too far away. If he was lucky, he might be able to get out of this before Steve even realized anything other than traffic had gone wrong, but as the time ticked by, he could almost see Steve looking down more and more at his watch, wondering where Tony was, telling himself not to worry, that it was nothing, but starting to panic nonetheless. Ever since Afghanistan, Steve got a tad touchy about Tony not showing up when he was supposed to, though Tony supposed that was understandable, all things considered.

Tony had already noticed that his own phone wasn’t in his pocket any longer, and when he chanced a side-eyed look towards the men, he noticed one of them—the younger one, he thought—had it in his hand and was staring down at the lock screen with a vaguely sick look on his face. Tony and Steve smiled back at the pale-faced man from one of their wedding photos, the one where Steve had just leaned down and whispered something in Tony’s ear about the photographer being more of a drill sergeant than his actual drill sergeant. Which was saying something considering Phillips. 

“I’m just saying—look, he barely got a look at us,” the younger one, Dominic, Tony remembered, asked. He looked over at Tony, who managed to just lower his gaze in time. “He’s been out this whole time.”

“He fell! That was not my fault,” Malcolm, the older one, nearly shouted.

“Dude, calm down, I’m not saying it was,” Dominic cajoled. “Look, maybe we just, like, I don’t know, leave him here or something. Someone will find him, right? This place’ll be hopping with people first thing Monday morning. They’ll find him, call the cops, whatever. No one has to know it was us.”

“I’d rather the cops,” Malcolm, the older one, groused under his breath. “Okay. Okay, fine, so we leave him here, dump the car—Manny’s maybe. They’ll strip it good, if we don’t tell them whose car it is. Then we get the fuck out of, I don’t know, the country? Shit. Man, I don’t want to go to Mexico. They got, like, funky water there or something, my Ma says.”

“Got a cousin in Jersey. We could lay low there while this blows over,” Dominic offered. He sounded hopeful. Tony thought this was a great plan, but thought it prudent not to chime in, since the whole thing seemed to hinge on them apparently having mistaken him for someone else. That was the only thing Tony could figure, anyway. He didn’t know anyone named Cap. Well, okay, technically, Steve had been a Captain in the Army years ago when they first met when Tony visited his base doing the dog-and-pony roadshow thing back when he worked for SI. But, no one called him Captain anymore, let alone Cap, except maybe Sam, when he was being annoying. Which was always. Anyway, point being, low rent Harry and Marv here clearly thought he was someone that this Cap person knew, someone very important to him who was not supposed to be harmed, not Tony Stark-Rogers, brilliant and adored science teacher at Midtown High and husband to the owner of Brooklyn’s finest produce delivery company.

“So…our plan is leave him. Drop the car at Manny’s,” Malcolm counted off like he was tapping at a finger with each part of their plan. “And just…hope to God that he doesn’t find out.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Dominic said, hands slapping at his sides like he’d shrugged. Clearly, not the brains of the outfit, Tony thought, but kept his eyes on the floor and let his hair hide his face. Luckily, the two of them were too busy freaking out about whoever this bad guy boogeyman was to pay much attention to him, though his muscles were starting to protest at continuing to let his head loll forward and appear to hang limply against his bonds. 

“That does sound like a good plan. Doesn’t it? What do you think?” another voice said, this one a lot deeper and steadier than the other two.

And familiar.

“I give it a C-plus, plan-wise. Little extra for not just pissing in their pants and running for it, but I had to take some points off for not sticking the landing,” a fourth voice said. “You guys know how it is.”

That voice was familiar, too. 

Well, fuck me, Tony thought, looking up and blinking in shock at the two figures framed in the doorway. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tony said, glancing between Barnes and Wilson. Both were dressed in black, Tony noticed, and both were packing Sig Sauers on holsters under their arms and not exactly being subtle about it. “When did you two become Expendables cosplayers?”

“Oh, good, you’re not dead,” Barnes said flatly to Tony, then caught a look from Sam. “What? I hate clean up.”

“Dibs on Snipes,” Sam said, smiling widely. “You could pull of that whole crazy-eyed, scruffy-haired thing Rourke has going on,” Sam said, giving Barnes an up and down, considering look. “I told Cap not to worry. That you’d be fine. He worries,” Sam added, apparently for the benefit of the two geniuses currently looking about two seconds from sobbing and begging for their mothers.

“Fucking Rourke, man? Come on. I’m Statham, if anyone,” Barnes argued, nudging his elbow into Sam’s side. 

“So sorry to interrupt this important debate—actually, no, I’m not, and, also, Barnes, you cried when we watched John Wick and had me tell Nat it was because of the spices in the salsa, you are not the least bit a Stratham. Steve is Ford. Anyway, point being, and I’m repeating myself here, I know, but WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” Tony demanded. “Cap? Seriously? These two were talking about St--”

“Cap,” Barnes cut in. “It’s a thing. Want to untie him?” Barnes asked, glancing at Sam, who nodded and stepped into the room, walking over to kneel down by the chair where Tony was tied. Tony caught the flash of metal in Sam’s hand, and then the bonds were off and his hands were free. He cupped them to his chest, rubbing at the wrists.

“You two,” Barnes said, nodding at the two men—well, boys, Tony corrected. God, they barely looked old enough to be out of one of his classes.

“We didn’t know,” Malcolm said quickly. “We swear. We didn’t know it was him.”

“That’s—yeah, right, we didn’t have no clue, man, swear to fucking God,” Dominic pleaded. “You have to believe us. Tell him, tell Cap, we didn’t know. Besides, nothing—nothing happened, really. I mean, I got a little, you know, tazed or whatever. Which is cool. Totally fine. Had that coming, I see that now. And then he just, he kinda like fell or something, and hit his head, and see…we didn’t want to just leave him there for, you know, like anyone to come along and find him or something, so…”

“So, just to be clear here. You carjacked, injured and kidnapped one of the only people on Cap’s list? How stupid are you two?” Sam asked incredulously. 

“Very. Deeply. We are very stupid, Sir. We’re sorry. So, so sorry. We didn’t mean it. Honest, we didn’t,” Malcolm said. Barnes and Sam traded a look. “It was a mistake.”

“No kidding,” Barnes huffed. “Tony, you okay there?”

“No, I’m not okay. I’m ten seconds from being tied to a chair in some meatpacking warehouse, probably down by Sunset Park—oh, nice, with the looks of surprise there. You two aren’t exactly criminal masterminds, you know,” Tony scoffed, shaking his head and scowling at the two boys currently trying to make themselves invisible in the office’s corner. “Will someone please just tell me what the hell is going on? Because I have to tell you, I’m starting to come to my own conclusions here, and they aren’t good. Where’s St—Cap? God. That’s ridiculous. I’m not calling him that. Give me my phone. Who has my phone? Bonnie, you still got it, or did you give it to Clyde there?” Tony asked, holding out his hand and making a give-it gesture. The young man held it out, and started forward, but Barnes gave a sharp whistle, bringing him up short. 

“I’ll just take that,” Barnes said, grabbing it out of the man’s outstretched palm and walking over to hand it to Tony. Tony touched the thumbscan and opened the phone. Yep. Twenty-two missed calls from Steve. Great.

“Someone had better start talking,” Tony muttered, looking between Sam and Barnes. “Look, you two were over at our house yesterday morning, eating our leftovers and bitching about the Yankees—”

“Well, they suck,” Barnes shrugged.

“You suck,” Sam said.

“I hate you both,” Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “The point is, if someone doesn’t tell me what the holy hell is going on here, I’m going to take this phone that you have so kindly given me, tap this app here, and use it to emit a high frequency electromagnetic wave that will basically turn you all into the equivalent of slobbering, knuckle-dragging meatsacks with the intellectual capacities of maybe two of those bushels of produce you two are supposed to be delivering. On the count of three. One. Two….”

“Can you really do that?” Barnes asked.

“It also lowers your sperm count,” Tony replied. “ _Significantly_ ,” Tony added, emphasizing the word.

“Dude. That’s cold,” Sam said lowly, shaking his head.

“Ask yourselves, based on everything you know about me, what you think the chances are that I can do that,” Tony said.

Sam and Barnes traded another look, eyebrows raised, while the two clowns who caused this mess huddled together, looking wide-eyed at Tony. Okay, so it was technically the Wordscapes app, but Tony figured the two giant liars who lie couldn’t actually complain. He looked between them, thumb hovering over the button. 

“Please just tell me what’s going on,” Tony said with a sigh, lowering the phone to his lap. “Who is this Cap person? What list am I on? What. Is. Going. On!?!”

“Tony!” Steve called out, breathless as he rushed into the room. “You’re okay,” he said, sinking down next to Tony and running his hands through Tony’s hair, stopping and brushing the pad of his thumb lightly over the bump on Tony’s forehead, cupping his big, warm hands under Tony’s cheeks and holding him there, looking at him for a long moment, and finally, trailing gentle hands over Tony’s wrists. “You’re not okay,” Steve said, staring down at Tony’s wrists where the plastic straps had left rings of red embedded in his skin. He looked over at the two boys huddled next to the office’s desk with only a chair between them and Steve, though Tony thought that at least Malcolm looked like he was two seconds away from picking it up and using it the way lion tamers used to use them to fend off apex predators in confined spaces. 

Yeah, good fucking luck there, Clyde, Tony thought. 

“St— _Cap_ ,” Tony began. “I’m fine. Really. Head’s a little sore, but honestly, I had the new class bot on my lap and then dropped it getting out of the car. You know, when Thing One over there shoved a phony gun in my face. Always with the look of surprise. I built weapons for years. Do you really think I can’t spot a fake?” Tony asked, grimacing at the two of them. “Anyway, I dropped the damn thing and tripped over it. Banged my head on the side of the car. But, it’s fine. Really. Just a bump.”

“You’re sure?” Steve asked, prodding carefully at the spot on Tony’s forehead, just below his hairline.

“See? See? He’s fine. And it wasn’t even our fault, really. Like he said, he tripped and all. And we weren’t going to hurt him or nothing, no Sir. Fake gun, see?” Dominic stammered in an urgent, pleading tone that seemed to run the words together into one long, supercalifrageilistic sentence.

“Gonna need you to explain a few things,” Tony said in a soft, low voice, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes pointedly.

“You need a doctor,” Steve insisted.

“I could be hopping around like the Black Knight and still would not see a doctor before I get a God-damned explanation, Steve,” Tony shot back, glaring at Steve.

Steve let out a resigned huff of air, then nodded. He stood up, standing between where Tony sat and the two idiots who had started this whole thing, and gave them what Tony was sure was one of Steve’s patented You Done Wrong and Don’t Test Me Glares. They didn’t work on Tony, but they did tend to get the attention of just about everyone else. Including, it seemed, Not so Fast and Furious over there, who had dual looks of complete horror on their faces.

“Put them in the van. I’ll deal with them later,” Steve announced sternly. That sounded properly menacing, Tony thought, though he was probably one of the few people on Earth who knew Steve well enough to differentiate between the annoyed kind of fear and anger that laced his voice now and the deep, frightening wash of rage that came from something very different. Tony had heard that voice once. In a cave, with his heart clutched to his chest. He shivered at the memory.

“Come on,” Barnes said dully, grabbing Malcolm by the arm and pulling him along like a recalcitrant schoolboy.

“You, too,” Sam said, pushing Dominic’s shoulder to nudge him into motion when he seemed rooted to the spot. 

“Please. Please. We didn’t know. Honestly, Sir—Cap. Cap, Sir. We didn’t know who he was, I swear! We’d never touch him, not in a million years, if we knew. Please!” Dominic wailed, the words wet and thick. His hands came together like he was praying as his face squelched into a grimace and tears started to streak down his cheeks. 

“Dom, man, come on,” Malcolm hissed. “Don’t make it worse,” he urged, then cleared his throat and looked at Steve, pulling himself up a bit straighter. “It wasn’t his idea, Sir. It was mine. I made him do it. It was all me.”

“Mal, no, come on, you know—” Dominic started.

“I was the one who made your guy fall,” Malcolm cut in. “I didn’t mean to, but it was me he tripped over. Well, kinda, because I was going for that thing he dropped ‘cause I thought maybe it was a bomb or something after he electrocuted Dom with—with whatever that was.”

Steve turned and peered down at Tony. Tony shrugged. “Just a little personal protection device I’ve been fooling around with. What? You really want to stand there and tell me I can’t have a secret hobby?” 

Steve had the decency to look a bit abashed at that. His mouth twisted into a wry smile before it dropped away, and he nodded slightly, then turned back to the two boys. 

“What I’m saying is, I’m the one responsible, and if there are…consequences, well. Those should be on me,” Malcolm finished, looking down at the floor like he was hoping it would open up and swallow him. 

“That’s not—Mal, that’s not how it went down, and you know it,” Dominic protested.

“Pretty brave, wanting to take the fall for your friend like that,” Sam said, eyeing Steve with an amused glint brightening his gaze. “Maybe we just grind up a leg or something.”

“Arm’s best,” Bucky said, patting his metal prosthetic with a stoic look. The arm Tony had made him, the bastard. The two boys swallowed audibly, faces draining of color. 

“You’re all terrible people and are clearly going to hell,” Tony observed mildly.

“Van. Now,” Steve said. “I’ll be out in a minute, and we’ll have,” he paused and tilted his head to the side. “Let’s call it a long talk about taking responsibility for our actions,” he finished. 

The irony was, Tony thought, that those poor boys were probably going to get such a long talk about taking responsibility for their actions, they’d be offering up body parts before it was over. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his palm caught on the bump. 

“Hey, is my bot still back on the side of the road?” Tony asked.

“You kinda stepped on it. Sir,” Dominic said. “I think I got it back together, though. I put it in your trunk.”

“Really? Huh. Hey, where do you go to school?” Tony asked.

“Tony,” Steve said in an exasperated voice.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I couldn’t hear you over all the lying,” Tony shot back. 

“I’m not—I dropped out last year,” Dominic said.

“Well, that was a stupid move. Midtown High. Come by and ask for Mr. Stark. We’ve got waivers and, I don’t know, stuff. And you, Throws Yourself on His Sword? Yeah, that’s you. Do whatever he offers you, okay? You’ll be good at it,” Tony told Malcolm. “What?” he said, looking up at Steve and spreading his hands wide. “Relationships are fifty-fifty. You get one, I get one. That’s fair.”

Malcolm and Dominic were looking back and forth between each other and Steve and Tony, torn between confusion, hope and terror. 

Steve jerked his head towards the door and Barnes and Sam followed the two boys as they shuffled out of the room and into the darkness of the warehouse. He stood there a long moment, rubbing at his temples with one hand. 

“I was worried,” Steve said after a moment.

“Steve, if you don’t tell me what is going on right now, I swear—” Tony broke off, sucking in a shaky breath. He hadn’t realized how scared he had been or how terrified he was now until that moment. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever it was that Steve was going to say. Clearly, he didn’t know everything about his husband, not the way he thought he had. He was too confused and scared to be angry, but the anger was there, pushing at the edges. “Just tell me. Please. Whatever it is. I just—I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Steve knelt down again and placed a hand on Tony’s knee, bowing his head for a moment before raising his eyes to Tony. “I know. I owe you the truth. I have for a long time. I told myself over and over again that I needed to tell you, but there was always some excuse not to. It was safer if you didn’t know. If you were totally out of it. That was what I told myself, but here you are, trussed up by some two-bit carjackers of all the stupid—”

“Steve,” Tony cut in with a calm insistence.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Steve sighed, swiping a hand over his mouth. “It started a couple of years ago.”

“Years?” Tony repeated. “ _What_ started, Steve? God, you—you deliver produce for Christ’s sake. You and Barnes and Wilson, you bring restaurants their—their carrots or whatever. But, those two boys were terrified of you, Steve. Terrified. They talked about you like you were some kind of, I don’t know, Godfather or something about to My Little Pony their bed in the one way that is actually creepier than the other way. Please, just _tell me_. Tell me what’s going on.”

“You remember a few years back there were all these muggings on the Southside?” Steve asked. “Then O’Malley’s got held up. Couple a’break-ins. The pawn shop on 58th. Then the fire down at Sonny’s? That nearly lit up the whole building, and there are apartments up there. Families.”

“Yeah. I remember,” Tony replied.

“Well, me and Bucky, we—we kind of thought someone ought to do something about that kind of thing,” Steve said.

“Right. So, being the responsible citizens that you are, you called the police and let them do their jobs in the usual efficient and able manner in which the New York PD handles these kinds of things down in Flatbush,” Tony nodded sagely. 

“You know me so well,” Steve said dryly. He stood up and paced in a circle, scraping a hand through his hair. “We did call the police. Went down to the precinct. Helped some of the folks get better security.”

“I know. I did the security,” Tony reminded him drolly. “And meanwhile, you were also, what? Playing hero?”

“Not a hero,” Steve said, hands going to his hips. “We didn’t start out to do anything, really. Just to patrol a bit. Keep watch. Except when we saw something, by the time the cops showed up, the guy was long gone, and so…”

“So, the next time, you didn’t wait for the cops,” Tony guessed. 

“No,” Steve said. “Nothing bad,” he said quickly. “This guy was hassling a girl just trying to wait for a bus, you know? We just put the fear of God into the guy, I guess you could say.”

“Steve,” Tony said, shaking his head. 

“Anyway, on the delivery route, we hear more and more about this stuff, and it’s these gangs, these outsiders, trying to push their way in, see? Fight for territory or whatever. Well, we don’t want that here, we say, and so we just sort of—it happened. I didn’t mean for it to, but it did,” Steve said, voice going rough and low. “Things started to escalate, but it was—things were drawing attention that no one wanted. So, Frank suggested--”

“ _Frank Castle?_ That guy is two very small steps away from an I-love-myself jacket and a very soft room,” Tony said, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms. He looked up at Steve with a belligerent glare. “I know he’s one of your Army buddies, but come on, Steve, you know he’s messed up after what happened with his family.”

“Frank’s a good guy, Tony, and what happened to his family is exactly why we’re doing this,” Steve replied.

“Who else is involved in this?” Tony demanded. “Your little band of merry men?”

Steve sighed, dropped his hands from his hips and leaned back against the wall of the office, next to a poster of an eagle soaring over a mountain with some pithy saying underneath. Someone had drawn in a trail of black dots from the eagle down to a blackened mountaintop. Appropriate, Tony thought.

“Well…there’s Bucky and Sam, of course. Luke,” Steve told him. “Jessica. Clint. Scott, until he got busted and put on house arrest. Thor, when he’s in town. He felt bad because his brother got caught up in some of it, I think. A few others would kind of come and go.”

“Great. Wonderful. Man in Tights, the world’s surliest detective, your gym buddy, and the dude who cuts Sam’s hair all know about what my husband is up to, but not me,” Tony spat out, tossing up his hands. “Does Nat know? Of course she does, what am I saying. So, everyone except me gets to know about what my husband is up to when he’s supposed to be going to therapy or whatever down at the VA!”

“I do go to therapy sometimes,” Steve said, looking down.

“Well, newsflash, Steve, I don’t think it’s fucking working,” Tony ground out.

“I know. I’m sorry, Tony. I should’ve told you a long time ago,” Steve said, voice rising to a plea. “I’m sorry. It happened so gradually, and I just kept—I don’t know, I just kept not saying it, and the longer I waited, the harder it got to say. That’s no excuse, I know.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t tell me because you were afraid I’d tell you to stop, and you didn’t want to,” Tony said. He could almost taste the bitterness in his mouth.

“I—yeah,” Steve admitted, glancing away again. “I didn’t see it that way at the time, I swear. I told myself it was about protecting you, but…yeah.”

“So, you want to keep doing it, I take it,” Tony said. “This whole weekend warrior thing. This is that important to you.”

“Mostly now, it’s—it’s really just letting the stories do the work,” Steve said. “‘Cap’ gets the blame or credit, depending on how you look at it, for all kinds of things. Some we handled, some we didn’t. But it’s working. We turn most of them over to the cops, who are willing to look the other way for now, except for a few we sort of, ah. Rehabilitate, I guess you could say. Give them a chance to turn over a new leaf. Like Pietro and Wanda? They were grifting up and down the city. Identity theft, fraud, the works.”

“The one thing I’ve learned today that does not surprise me,” Tony muttered through his teeth. 

“It isn’t perfect, I know. But, it keeps the worst of it at bay, at least until you get a couple of dumb kids wanting to show off like today,” Steve said. “We’re handling it. I—yeah, I do think it’s important, Tony. But, it isn’t as important as you. It never was, and I shouldn’t have let that get away from me.”

“Handling it? Is that what you’re calling it?” Tony demanded, voice going soft. Steve looked away, then down, before lifting his eyes back to Tony with a plea in them. “Don’t give me that look. This isn’t Afghanistan, Steve, it’s fucking Brooklyn. You can’t—” he broke off, mouth flattening into a thin line. “What’s this ‘list’ they were talking about anyway?” Tony asked, eyes narrowing on Steve.

“Ah. That,” Steve replied.

“Yeah, that,” Tony snorted. 

“I don’t know, exactly. I don’t even know if it really exists. Supposedly, someone put together a list of, well, basically people who were off-limits. People you especially did not want to touch or face the consequences, so to speak,” Steve said. 

“Consequences?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Consequences,” Steve repeated. He pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward, stopping in front of Tony long enough to nudge Tony’s knees apart and move between them. “The list is all the people who are important. To any of us, but, well, you’re at the top. I know that much.”

“Me?” Tony said.

“Yeah, you,” Steve replied, voice going soft. He reached out and traced his fingertip down Tony’s cheek. “You’re everything to me, you know that. Keeping you safe, it’s—I have to do it, Tony. And all those people out there, each of them, they’re someone’s you. I couldn’t just keep turning a blind eye, waiting for someone else to fix it. I never wanted you to be caught up in it, though. I kept telling myself, with all the stories out there, they’d leave you alone. No one would dare. I was—it was selfish. I’m sorry. I should have told you a long time ago.”

“Yeah, you damn well should have,” Tony snapped back.

“I’ll stop. Now. Tonight. If that’s what you want. I’ll do anything, Tony, I swear,” Steve rushed out in a tight voice. “If you want a divorce, I—I understand.”

“A divorce? Are you kidding? Of course I don’t want a damn divorce, Steve. I love you, you giant, noble idiot!” Tony shouted, standing up fast enough to nearly knock Steve off his feet. “I want in.”

“What?” Steve asked, grabbing Tony by the arms to steady him, since standing up that fast with a probable concussion turned out to be not the best decision Tony had made in the last five minutes. He swayed a bit, forehead bumping into Steve’s chest. That was a good place to be, Tony decided, somewhat hazily. “You need to see a doctor,” Steve pointed out.

“Quit telling me I need to see a doctor whenever I agree with you. I want in. I want to help. Be a part of your super-secret boy band, whatever,” Tony said. “Not,” he cut in archly when Steve opened his mouth. “The way you and Bad Decision Theater out there are going about it. We’ll call Matt when we get home. Hell, he’ll probably want to sign up. Anyway, there’s got to be some kind of, I don’t know, agency or militia thing or something. Well-regulated militia. That’s a thing. I’m pretty sure. Anyway, with your Special Forces background and my, well, money and influence—I know, I know,” Tony said, holding up a hand to stop Steve’s protest. “I haven’t wanted to be a part of that since, well. Since a while. But, maybe there’s a way to use all that for something good beyond just throwing grant money around. Truth is, I’ve been thinking about this for longer than I really want to admit to you while I have the high ground here,” Tony acknowledged with a grimace. 

“You have, huh?” Steve asked, sounding remarkably unsurprised, though Tony knew that Steve understood him better than anyone.

“I, uh. Actually talked a bit to Rhodey about some ideas. Options. Thoughts. More like musings, really, but, ah--yeah,” Tony said, shrugging lightly, then regretting the motion. His whole body ached, he realized with a pained wince. “Anyway, point being, there has to be a way to do something to help deal with all of this that doesn’t involve you all running around playing the non-fun version of Dirty Harry. Come on, Steve, work with me, here. You might not know this, but I’m a pretty smart guy. Have some good ideas from time to time.”

“I know you do,” Steve said. “You’re really not mad?”

“I’m so mad, you have no idea. How there are not flames coming out the sides of my face, I’ll never know. You’re in so much trouble. Like, a truly unbelievable amount of trouble. The couch is a futon, you know that, right?” Tony warned him. “But, I want in. Ever since Afghanistan, you know how hard it’s been to—to deal with everything. To feel like I made it out of there for a reason.”

“Tony,” Steve said, drawing out the word.

“I know,” Tony said, giving him a wan smile. “I love teaching, I really do, but sometimes…I think I could do more. Be more.”

“You don’t need to be more than you are, Tony. You’re…everything. I don’t need more. I don’t need you to _be_ more. And what you do for those kids, it’s—it’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing. You know that, right?” Steve replied.

“I know. But, feel free to say that as much as you want,” Tony said, mouth tugging up at the corners. “What I’m saying is, I think—I think we could do this. You and me. We could figure out a way to make a difference and do it the right way. I don’t know how, not right now. I _am_ concussed, so cut me some slack. But, yeah. You and me. We could do this. And, if you haven’t noticed, you’re kind of my everything, too. If this is something you feel you have to do, I want to be a part of it. Whatever that means.”

“You and me, huh?” Steve said, a smile starting to form.

“Together,” Tony said.

“Always,” Steve whispered, leaning his forehead down to touch Tony’s, then catching himself and remembering the bump on Tony’s head. “Sorry,” he winced, gingerly brushing the hair back from Tony’s head to place a kiss just to the right of the bump. “Doctor,” Steve said sternly.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” Tony said, snapping a cheeky salute, or trying to. His aim was off. Eh, doctor was probably a good call. “Can I call you Cap?” Tony asked as Steve wrapped an arm under his shoulder and bent down. “What are you--oof,” Tony breathed out as Steve lifted him into a bridal carry. “This is not necessary.”

“It is. And we can discuss your question later,” Steve said, then grinned. 

“So, speaking of names, you all have like a cool gang name or something? Sharks, Jets, Bloods, Crips, what do people call terrifying gangs out for vigilante justice these days? Fangirls?” Tony asked, squinting up at the dangling light as Steve angled them out the office door. 

“Ah, well…the, um…the Revengers?” Steve replied. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“God, yes, that’s terrible. Revengers. What, are you all twelve?” Tony said, making a face of disgust. “Don’t worry. We’ll come up with something better. Brooklyn’s finest? That’s taken, I guess. Brooklyn’s, I don’t know…mightiest…something? Eh. My head hurts,” Tony said, pressing his cheek against Steve’s chest. “Dumbasses. Carjacking is so 2000’s. Who does that anymore? What, were they going to sell the parts to buy a GameCube? Ugh,” Tony groaned, burying his head a little more into the curve of Steve’s arm as Steve carried him. “By the way,” he started, clearing his throat a little. “Did I thank you for saving me? Thank you. That was awesome. I’m still pissed, but, also kind of woozy, and that was really hot, so you’re getting a pass at the moment. The whole defending my honor, avenging angel thing really works for you, just so you know. Anyway, so names…I’m blanking.”

“We’ll think of something, Tony,” Steve said, hefting Tony closer to his chest and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Tony’s head. “You’re fixating on the name,” Steve said with a slight smile.

“Well, My Idiot Husband’s Gang of Bigger Idiots Who Follow Him doesn’t really work from a merchandising standpoint,” Tony grinned, then swatted at Steve’s arm when he caught his husband’s eyeroll. “Oooh, you know who’s great with that kind of branding and marketing stuff?” Tony started, straightening up a bit. “Jan! We should ask her for name ideas.”


	2. Ripple Effect (post-IW time travel fix it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of Infinity War, Steve is sent back in time on a desperate mission to find the Tesseract. Instead, he meets up with 21-year old Tony, still reeling from his parents' deaths. Who, naturally, tries to climb Steve like a tree. Somehow, this fixes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Thank You fic for the prompt time travel based on an idea from nostalgicatsea. Thank you!

Steve could hear the music as the car pulled into a long, circular driveway behind a caravan of other dark-windowed sedans and limousines, all waiting to pass through the wrought-iron gates. Bach, Steve thought, before the familiar strands stopped and gave way to something newer, some popular song he had missed.

“You’re sure he isn’t going to be here?” Steve asked again.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re so interested in my godson’s whereabouts,” Peggy suggested evenly. “He’s at school, I told you. I asked Obie, but he said Tony hates these things. Always has. Refuses to come. Especially now, when his mother isn’t…” she trailed off. Steve could picture her biting her lip, the way she used to when she wanted to take back whatever words had slipped out.

Steve tried to imagine a Tony who hated parties, who refused to leave school unless his mother was there. It actually wasn’t as hard as he would have thought, he realized, remembering the hours Tony spent in his workshop over the years. 

“It’s awful. What happened,” she said. 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed thickly. “It is,” he said. He opened his eyes, but kept his gaze on the darkened car window. Outside, red brake lights lined the driveway.

“This would have been a lot simpler if only you’d arrived a few months ago,” she sighed. “Not that…I mean, what happened was obviously a tragedy.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. The word felt heavy in his mouth, flowing down to his stomach and settling there like a stone.

Peggy’s reflection leaned into the window, and he stared at her that way for a moment. It was easier, somehow, to look at her—really _look_ at her--like this. A reflection. Distorted a bit by the glass, washed out, but still beautiful. Still Peggy.

Streaks of gray ran through her hair now. The fullness he hadn’t noticed all those years ago had faded from her face, making her features sharper, more angled, the skin pulled tighter across the bones. Fine lines were drawn around her mouth and eyes. Not many, not yet, but there. Smile lines, Steve’s mom always called them.

She didn’t look old, not exactly. Not the way Steve remembered her from the nursing home. Just not young anymore, and in a way, it was almost worse to look at her like this. There was a wrongness to it that kept disconcerting him, like opening a book in the middle part of a story. She had always been suspended in his mind like some kind of marker of his life. Before the ice, and then after the ice, and here she was, in the middle, where life and work and love and all those things existed for her in this in-between time when he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

He wished he hadn’t seen this piece of her. It was a terrible, selfish thought, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to know this part of her. He had always wanted her to be happy, and taken some measure of comfort in knowing that she was, but he didn’t want to _see_ it. Not even because it hurt. That was the most painful thing of all. The realization that he had moved past whatever could have been without even realizing it. He wanted to look away. Keep telling himself that he’d missed his chance, that he’d made a sacrifice, a choice, and given up on his shot at all of that.

Harder to do when the middle part of the story was literally staring him in the face and all he could think about was that he wasn’t supposed to be here.

Peggy certainly hadn’t been who he had been expecting to see when he opened his eyes on the other side of the portal or whatever Bruce and Shuri called it. Wormhole, tunnel, bridge, Steve wasn’t sure if they had ever settled on anything in particular. A way. A chance. Hope. No one wanted to call it what it was. 

Looking back, Steve wasn’t sure what he had expected when they finally managed to put the pieces of Howard’s prototype together. Nothing, if he was honest with himself. He hadn’t expected anything. None of them had, not really, not if the long looks exchanged between Bruce and Shuri had been any indication.

The plan was both insanely convoluted and essentially straightforward. Use the machine Howard had been working on in the years after he first came across the Tesseract to go back in time and grab the cube before Thanos could. Simple. Or, as simple as time travel could get. It was a terrible idea. A desperation play. An idea born out of an unwillingness to face what was right in front of them. They failed. The Avengers failed. And now, half the universe was gone.

Sam. Wanda. Vision. T’Challa. All gone.

Bucky. 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar punch to his stomach that came with the memory. It was too much. Too much loss. Too much grief. The scale of it was unimaginable. If Steve thought about it too much, he supposed he might go mad, though what was this last-ditch gambit, if not madness? He sometimes wished he had gone with Nat, off to look for Clint, but he hadn't felt like he could leave anymore than she could stay.

The car slowed, and Peggy leaned back against her seat. In front of them, Steve could hear the driver giving their names to the uniformed guard who stood at the gate. Steve peered through the window, gazing up towards the house. Mansion, really. His eyes caught on the S curled into the spindly tops of each side of the gate.

S for Stark, of course.

Tony was gone, too. Whether to Thanos and his gauntlet or something else, it didn’t really matter. Tony was gone. No one had heard from him since he hopped a ride on one of Thanos’ ships. If he could have, if there was any possible way, Tony would have at least contacted Pepper and Rhodey. Steve knew that. Them, at least, Steve thought with a slight gnashing of his teeth as his jaw tightened. Tony would have tried to reach them. Which meant, in all likelihood, Tony was gone, one way or the other.

Steve felt Peggy’s hand cover his own and realized he had curled his hands into fists against the tops of his thighs. He breathed out a huff of air, and glanced over at her with a silent apology before looking quickly away as the car pulled through the gates. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice careful, like she was picking at the words the way someone picks at the strings on a guitar.

“Fine,” Steve said. I think your godson is dead, he thought. “Just ready to get this done.”

That was true enough. Months of planning and preparation, and it had still gone sideways, but the mission wasn’t totally unsalvageable, or so Steve hoped. He swiped a hand over his face, disjointed flashes of memories slipping through his mind like one of those old flip books where the images seemed to move faster and faster as you flipped through the pages.

Holding the palm of the gauntlet wide. Knowing it wasn’t going to be enough time. Bucky disappearing before his eyes. Looking around and taking count. Coming up far too short. Sitting in Shuri’s lab, everyone staring at nothing, mute and numb, while the screens showed the horror from around the world. Standing in the shower and looking down at streaks of dust and dirt and blood swirling around the drain and the horrifying thought that it was part of what was left of people and he’d seen it before, God, he’d seen it before, hadn’t he? Waking up in bed with Rhodes and Bruce passed out on the sofa across from him. They hadn’t said anything. Steve didn’t ask.

None of them could stand to be alone for very long, Steve had noticed after a while. Everywhere he looked, people were huddled together, heads bent, arms close enough to feel the warmth of the other person’s skin. 

It was four days after the Event when Shuri asked what they were going to do. Calls were coming in, she said. The world was in shock. In mourning. All of that, yes, but the world was also angry and afraid, and needed someone to blame. 

All of this seemed to have started with the Avengers, the talking heads on twenty-four hour news said. Everything had been fine before superheroes started having intergalactic throwdowns. The world wanted a solution. Or, if not that, they would settle for their pound of flesh.

We have to fix this, or they’ll come after you, Shuri— _Queen_ Shuri, Steve reminded himself, because the young girl who liked her technology and her music was long gone—said. They’ll come after you, and Wakanda can’t protect you forever. We have bled enough. Fix it or run was the unspoken message. 

The truth was, fixing any of it seemed all but insurmountable. They had to try, of course. Not just because of the circumstances, but that was just who they were. None of them were built for walking away.

We stay together, he told them, sounding sure of himself. We’ll figure it. He could taste the lie on his tongue as he said it, but what else could he possibly say? They had been hopelessly outmatched, and whatever they might possibly accomplish, Thanos, presumably, still had the power to undo, even if he needed some mechanism other than the gauntlet to channel the stones’ power.

The only way to fix any of it was to undo it with the combined power of the stones. That was one thing Bruce and Shuri agreed on. For Thanos to do what he did in a single snap of his fingers, he needed all of the stones. 

We just needed to keep him from getting one, Steve remembered Bruce saying as he sat on top of one of the med tables in Shuri’s lab eating some kind of noodle dish and occasionally jabbing his chopsticks in the air as he and Shuri went back and forth with ideas. Just one stone. We just needed to stop him from getting _one_.

Which led to time. 

It always came back to that for him, didn’t it, Steve thought with a wry twist of his mouth. Time. He hadn’t thought it could possibly work, this crazy plan that Bruce and Shuri concocted, though he had volunteered, of course. Thor was off-world, trying to gather any remaining Asgardians and resettle them on Earth, and Steve wasn’t sure he could ask it of him, anyway, after everything he had lost. That left Steve. He could withstand the machine’s power. They knew that much, since the machine used basically the same vita-ray technology that had once been used to amplify Erskine’s serum into his veins. It wasn’t supposed to work, anyway. The machine. It was just…something to do while they figured out something better, or so he had thought. Because they all had to believe they were doing something.

It was Sharon who had brought the idea to them, though somewhat inadvertently. There are things at SHIELD that have to do with early research on the Tesseract, she had said a few days after showing up in Wakanda, looking dead-eyed and shell-shocked, but filled with a grim determination that maybe they had all needed. Maybe there’s something there that could help.

Howard’s machine. Howard’s _time travel_ machine. He had figured out that the Tesseract somehow caused spatial anomalies, and so, Howard had wondered, if Einstein was right, and space and time really are inextricably linked, maybe something using technology based on the Tesseract that makes a portal across space could be used to make a path through time, as well. We’ve already sent subatomic particles forward in time, even without Tesseract technology, Bruce explained. It’s theoretically possible.

That…hadn’t been much to go on, but it was what they had, so Bruce, Shuri, Rocket and Rhodes sat to work. Steve frowned, remembering Rhodes arguing with a raccoon, how he had turned to his side with a ready smile, half expecting Tony to butt in with some joke that Steve would never think of. 

Howard apparently constructed a prototype, then abandoned the idea in the late fifties as the Cold War marched forward over everything else. That was the good news, once they finally got into SHIELD’s old database. They didn’t have the Tesseract, of course, so Shuri proposed using the basic ideas of the technology SHIELD had already produced from it, the weapons that had once seemed like such a betrayal. That, coupled with her own vibranium-based technology, and she thought, maybe, just maybe, it could work. In theory, she said, always qualifying it.

It was a fantasy, really, or so Steve thought. So they all thought, though no one would say it, even as test after test failed. The machine had never worked, after all. It was in pieces in SHIELD’s vaults, covered in plastic, waiting to be put together like some kind of massive puzzle where you had no picture for what the end might look like, though Bruce, Shuri and Rocket managed to put it together eventually. It looked ancient. Like something out of the B-movies Steve and Bucky used to sneak into down at the nickelodeon. Bulky and old, with huge rings sprouting electrodes and wires and coils, it looked completely out of place in Shuri’s lab. There was no way it was actually going to work. Actually send anyone back in time.

Except, Howard’s machine _had_ worked. This one time, it had worked. 

Not, of course, as any of them had intended.

The Battle of New York. The Tesseract. That was the goal. It had to be the Tesseract. The one stone that was on Earth and wouldn’t come into play again. They had talked through it for weeks. Argued, debated, gone back and forth on ideas, but they all agreed on one thing: the further back they aimed, the more they tried to change things for what they thought was the better, the worse the unanticipated effects could be.

A ripple effect, Shuri called it. You think you’re only changing one tiny, insignificant thing, a pebble dropped into an ocean, but the ripples of that form waves that wash over everything. 

With New York, they had a definite moment in time when they knew where a stone would be. The Tesseract was sitting there on top of Tony’s Tower in Selvig’s machine. Just sitting there, unguarded for a few precious minutes before being swooped off to Asgard while they all watched Tony fall, then collected Loki from his Hulk-induced lesson on the folly of ego. Before that, and it disappeared into the bowels of SHIELD, only occasionally showing up in coded mentions in SHIELD’s files. The Battle of New York it was, then.

Steve thought privately that the particular moment they all agreed on had some kind of talismanic magic for each of them. Something that none of them wanted to speak out loud. 

We were a team then, Steve remembered with a pang of bittersweet longing nearly choking him for a moment. He blinked, swallowing hard. For the first time. We were a real team. If any moment in time is where a fix for this needs to begin, he supposed they all felt, deep down, that was it. All soldiers are superstitious in foxholes, Steve thought to himself, glancing out the window as they waited their turn in the line of cars.

So, that was where they would send Steve. Or, _when_ , more accurately. It gave them a window where they didn’t have to be entirely precise, but also a fixed point in time where they knew the exact place and time where the Tesseract would be. Get the Tesseract. Take it to Wakanda, instead of Asgard. Explain. He even had a digitized message from Shuri that was still tucked on a Kimoyo bead in his pocket. Then, they could…figure something out. They would have years. Years to figure it out before Thanos and his minions showed up.

You’ll be a child, he had reminded her. Then it shall be my life’s work, Captain. My true purpose. Not this…ruling over ashes, she told him as she handed him the bead. He believed her. Or, wanted to believe her. He wasn’t sure it mattered which one.

A one-way trip, Steve thought, an uncomfortable shiver snaking up his spine. What would happen to him, he had asked, if he stayed, stuck in a past where he had to watch himself make the same mistakes? What was he supposed to do, just sit there? Do nothing, Bruce warned. Nothing. Say nothing, except what had to be said. Even that was probably too much, but could the outcome really be any worse? That question went unspoken and unanswered, but Steve supposed they all agreed on the answer. It couldn’t be worse. No matter if everything went wrong with this crazy plan. It couldn’t really be worse. A saving grace, if such a thing existed anymore.

So, it would be him. That had been the easiest decision of all, he supposed. Steve had realized, looking around Shuri’s lab as they worked, heads bent over some display with an array of numbers and equations, it wasn’t as if he was leaving anyone behind. He wondered if everyone else realized it, too, and were just too polite to say it.

So, they had all agreed, and Steve had played lab rat one last time. None of them said it, but by the day Steve stepped into the machine, they all seemed to know. They were out of ideas. Out of time when fixing this seemed like a viable option. The world was starting to move on. People were adjusting. Being born and dying in the normal course of things. Factions were forming, making grabs for resources. Hoarding them. Anger at the Avengers simmered and seeped over, aiming itself at any enhanced. There was a list, now, courtesy of the Accords, and while not complete, it gave people desperate for a guise of security and safety a place to start. Even in Wakanda, murmurs had turned into cries. Hadn’t they warned against outsiders? Hadn’t they told T’Challa that this was not the Wakandan way? And look what had happened. A war at their doorstep, their King gone, and the eyes of the world turning to them with an avaricious hunger.

A tipping point was coming, Steve could feel it. Soon enough, they wouldn’t need Thanos to wipe out half the planet, because someone was going to decide that the only way to stop something terrible was a preemptive strike with something they deemed less terrible.

So, Steve stepped on the platform. The loops of metal rings around him hummed with power. He closed his eyes against a bright flash of light, felt a blinding burst of pain in his head like it was being split open from the inside, opened his eyes in a silent scream and stared up at some poor, panicked janitor pushing a mop in a bucket with headphones over his ears who suddenly had a man appear in front of him. 

What year is it, Steve had asked, stumbling to his feet while the terrified man plastered his back to the wall. He looked around.

He was standing on a platform, Howard’s machine around him, just like when he closed his eyes, except now, he was in some other lab and Howard’s machine was scattered around the room in plastic-shrouded pieces. Shuri’s bright, streamlined screens and consoles were gone. Instead, huge panels of black screens lined with green letters and numbers scrolling through some kind of sequence sat in front of empty office chairs. A bank of machines stood to one side, whirring loudly, with large, square-shaped red and green buttons on the front. 

This wasn’t right. Steve remembered marveling at the helicarrier when he’d gotten out of the ice, and it looked nothing like the machines in this room. Old, clunky boxes that made him think of…Tony, Steve realized, calling the image to his mind. A photo he’d seen once after a Christmas dinner, when they were all too full to move. Tony and Rhodes with a machine like the one on the desk in the corner, except it had been in pieces, spread out on the floor around Tony.

She gave her life so that others might live, Tony had said solemnly, plucking the frame from Steve’s hand and staring fondly down at the image. Used some of the parts to build DUM-E. He still thinks Lotus is basically flirting.

Steve hadn’t known what Tony meant, but he knew that Tony had been wearing an MIT sweatshirt.

Well, shit, Steve managed to think about two seconds before an alarm started blaring and the room filled with armed men pointing guns at him while Steve stood there with his hands fisted at his sides.




He had missed his mark by _decades_. The SHIELD agents hadn’t quite known what to do when Steve just sat down and put his head in his hands, but somehow, he had ended up in a room with ten-inch thick steel walls, a chair, a table, a water in a Styrofoam cup and Peggy. Peggy, who had been practically vibrating with anger, demanding to know who he was, how he had gotten into one of the most secure buildings on the planet, and what kind of sick, twisted joke he thought this was. She hadn’t expected him to start laughing at that, but he had, laughing until he couldn’t stop, until he wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying. 1992. SHIELD had the Tesseract. Right here. Somewhere in the bowels of this building, but Steve had no way to get it home, not when Howard’s machine relied on it to work. They’d given him a sedative then. Needle to the neck. Steve hadn’t bothered stopping them. It hadn’t worked, of course. That clued them in, at least. They ran tests, but there was no comparison to run his DNA against. 

You poured my blood into the Hudson, he told her days later, while she stared at him, wide-eyed with dawning horror.

I never told anyone that, she said in a hushed, careful voice.

You told me, Steve replied.

He said he would tell her and no one else, because what choice was there? It took nearly two days to get through her questions, but she had finally believed him. She’d let him go back to the lab, the one where he’d appeared, but the pieces of Howard’s machine made no more sense to him than they had decades from then, or months ago, depending on how you looked at it. Oh, he remembered what the final machine was supposed to look like. He had gotten them that far, but the intricacies of it, the delicate connections of this wire here, that part there, he was as clueless as the rest of the SHIELD techs who kept looking from Steve’s drawing to the carefully laid out pieces, as if a spark of inspiration would come along if they stared at it long enough.

Unfortunately, no one in this time knew how to put it together, except Howard, and Howard…Steve sighed. I’m always too late, he thought with a sharp twist to his gut, like it was somehow a part of his destiny to have everything he wanted just out of reach. He looked over at Peggy. She was leaning back against the backseat of the car, smoothing her skirt down as they pulled up next to the mansion’s steps. Always a little too late, he thought again, though it didn’t hurt this time. He almost wished it still did.

“Howard’s study is just off the billiards room,” she reminded him, though he had already looked at the mansion’s layout, so he knew where every room was located. Knew the security measures. Knew the exits. Knew where they would likely have guards stationed to usher guests away from private areas. Knew where the safe was. Knew its lock and how to bypass it, at least if what the pencil-thin man in the white coat at SHIELD said was true. “He got squirrely about things after SHIELD took the Tesseract away, you know. Not that I blame him. National Security. I’ve heard that before,” she harrumphed. “If they exist, whatever plans or notes Howard had for the prototype should be in there. As soon as you have them, find me, and I’ll make my excuses. Obadiah knows I hate these things, anyway.”

Steve winced at the name, then looked down and nodded. Checked his watch. Adjusted the jacket of the tuxedo Peggy had supplied him with for the evening’s gala. It was something to do, other than thinking about this being Howard’s house. Tony’s now, he mentally corrected. Something to do other than thinking about Stane. Steve’s hand curled into a fist on the top of his tuxedo trousers again, and he forced himself to relax, let out a low breath and looked over at Peggy. 

“What if they aren’t?” Steve asked, not for the first time.

“Then we’ll…keep on trying. Your drawing of what it should look like gave us a head start. We do have some fairly smart people at SHIELD, you know,” Peggy replied sharply, then her face softened, and she bit her lip, worrying at it for a moment. “Sorry. I’m sorry, Steve, I really am. I know you’re worried. And…and anxious to get home. Of course you are. As strange as this is for me, I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. I wish…I wish you would just tell me…” she sighed, then gave him a wan smile. “But, you won’t. You can’t blame a girl for trying, though.”

“I know,” Steve said, mouth twisting into a grimace. “I’m sorry, Peg. You know I can’t.”

She was quiet for a moment. It was an old conversation by now. Why are you here? What could possibly have driven you to try this? What is it you came for?

And most often, where are you? 

Just tell me. Just tell me, Steve, and I’ll find you! You can’t ask me to leave you like—like that.

“I just…I,” Peggy broke off, glancing away. “These past few weeks, I’ve seen you, how you are. When you think no one is paying attention. And I—I don’t know what happened. You won’t tell me, and I guess I have no choice but to respect that. But, I wonder…this future that requires you to stay gone so long, that asks you to—to give up so much…is this future you are trying so hard to protect really worth that?” she asked, staring outside the window at the stream of people walking from their cars into the gala.

“No,” Steve replied softly after a long moment. He looked down at his hands. “Yes. I don’t know. It isn’t just about me, Peggy. You know that.” The car rolled to a stop. A valet swung the car door open, and Steve stepped out, holding out a hand to Peggy. 

“Always so dramatic,” Peggy sighed, making Steve huff out a surprised puff of laughter and taking his hand and slipping her arm through his elbow as they made their way up the steps next to a group of other guests towards the brightly lit mansion. “I’ve had a good life, Steve. I wouldn’t change it. That’s the truth. I just wish you could look me in the eye and say the same,” she replied, arching her brow. “Exactly,” she finished when he tore his eyes away and swept the perimeter instead of answering her.

“I can’t, Peg,” Steve said. “You know I can’t. It could change…we don’t know what it could change. I can’t take that chance.”

“I think,” she began, then slowed her steps, tilted her head and looked up at him. The music and car noise was loud, covering their conversation, not that anyone was paying attention, Steve noticed. “Look at what’s happening in the world. Things are changing faster than I think any of us, except maybe Howard, ever anticipated. The world needs someone like you, Steve. Someone to believe in again. We haven’t had that in so long. _I_ haven’t had that in so long,” she said, voice going raw and urgent, making Steve’s chest tighten. “How can you ask me to think that it could possibly be wrong to have a world with you in it?”

“Peg…there’s too much at stake. You know that. You had—those people, you had those people come and talk to you—” Steve stammered. 

“Ethicists,” Peggy said, making a scoffing sound. “Same people who said the world couldn’t handle evidence of aliens, I assume. They don’t know what the world needs, only what they think it fears. They don’t know _you_.” 

“Peggy,” Steve sighed. “We’ve been through this. I can’t risk it. I can’t.” 

She gave him a long look, then nodded once. “I suppose we are finally getting our date. That’s something,” she observed as they took the last of the steps, her voice mild and light, though the look she gave him was—not sad, exactly, but held something wistful. They were always a what could have been, and a part of Steve thought they both knew they were better off that way.

“Sorry I’m late. I know you hate that,” Steve said, giving her a flat smile. She laughed a little, though, her eyes warming.

“You are most decidedly late, but I think you can be forgiven that oversight this once,” Peggy smiled softly up at him. “Come now, let’s go make our entrance. You always did like that part.” Steve returned her smile, then twisted his head, scowling at the man who was approaching them as they reached the front doors.

“Director Carter! I didn’t think you were going to be able to make it,” a tall, bald, tuxedo-clad man said, taking a cigar out of his mouth where he had been about to step out onto the stoop and light it. “Always a pleasure.”

“That’s former Director, Obie, and you know how government work is, Obadiah. Never can keep to my calendar. I haven’t seen you since…well, since the funerals, I suppose. Such a terrible thing. I didn’t get to speak to you very long after. How have you been?” Peggy asked.

Peggy’s grip tightened on his arm, and she shot him a questioning look. Steve realized his whole body had tensed, and tried to force himself to relax, though to little avail. 

“Holding things together about as well as you can imagine,” Stane replied, looking down for a moment in what Steve could place as a practiced bit of gruff sorrow. “Place isn’t the same without Howard around, I’ll tell you that. The market’s been brutal on us,” Stane added, glancing around. “But, with the new product we have in the pipeline, I think the company’ll pull through. Haven’t been this excited about a launch in years, to tell you the truth.”

“Rollout is next May for the new line?” Peggy inquired politely. “I’m hearing good things.”

“You’re going to be impressed, I’m telling you,” Stane said, pointing his cigar at Peggy, then giving Steve a long look. “No Daniel tonight?” Stane asked.

“You know he hates these things,” Peggy replied. “How is Tony? He won’t return my calls or letters. I was thinking of trying to visit, but then…I don’t know. Time got away from me.”

“Tony? You know him, always something…Can barely get him away from MIT these days. Used to be you couldn’t get the kid to pay attention. Now, he’s all about this thesis project of his. Some AI thing, I don’t know…” Stane trailed off with a light shrug of his shoulders. “You know, I keep thinking you look familiar,” Stane mused, his eyes on Steve. “Have we met?”

“No,” Steve replied, not for the first time, glad for the beard that seemed to throw people off whatever image their minds tried to find. “I’ve heard a lot about you, though.” 

I heard you tried to kill him. I heard you pulled his reactor out of his chest and watched him while he struggled to breathe. I heard you used to give him piggy-back rides and sneak him candy.

“Forgive me, how rude of me. Obie, this is Captain Roger Grant. An, ah, old friend,” Peggy replied with a slight smile. “Captain, of course you know of our host, Obadiah Stane of Stark Industries.”

“Of course. Mr. Stane,” Steve said, reaching out his hand in greeting. “Thank you for letting me crash your party,” Steve said. Go fuck yourself, Steve thought, bristling at the contact.

“Ah! Whoa-ho-ho, hell of a grip there, son. _Hell_ of a grip,” Stane said, withdrawing his hand and giving his limp wrist a slight shake and staring at Steve with a shrewd, narrow-eyed gaze. “Well, I should let you two get inside,” Stane said after a moment. “Secretary Pierce will cancel our contracts if I monopolize you.”

“Oh, is Alexander here? I thought he was in Basel for the terrorism conference,” Peggy said. “Awkward timing, that. With those Kurdish dissidents killed in Berlin. Germans say it was Iran, but this doesn’t look like the other Vevak assassinations. Too precise.”

Steve’s head swiveled her way, but he clamped his mouth shut. There was no way to know for sure, though he had told himself that before, and it sounded hollow even to his own ears. He couldn’t seem to lie to anyone except himself, and he wondered sometimes if that was the worst of all. Try not to change anything, he reminded himself. Bruce and Shuri had been adamant about that. Ripple effects. Too risky. Too much uncertainty. Too much potential for catastrophe.

He thought if he started laughing at that, he might not stop.

“You know they want to pin something on the Ayatollah, Peggy, whether it’s this or something else,” Stane shrugged, glancing at Steve before dropping his gaze back to Peggy. “Good for business, I suppose,” he grinned. It was full of teeth. Steve wanted to hit him hard enough to knock them out of his mouth. “Just going to,” Stane said, holding up the cigar with a slightly apologetic look. 

“Of course. It was good to see you, Obie. Please give Tony my best,” Peggy replied, stepping past him and pulling Steve along in her wake. He looked back over his shoulder at where Stane stood, head tipped back, nodding at the last few guests making their way inside and puffing a ring of smoke out, then flicking the ash down on the steps of Howard’s mansion. 

“Not a fan of Obadiah, I take it?” Peggy asked, mouth curving into a small smile. “Daniel despises him, too, but Howard always trusted him. Not that Howard was the best judge of character,” Peggy added in a hushed voice as they waded into the crowd. She looked up at him, catching his surprised look. “What? You were never very good at subtlety, you know. You look like you’re ready to grab one of those silver platters the waiters are using for the crudites. Now, off with you. I’ll find a few old friends to keep myself entertained. When you’re done, come remind me that I have an early morning meeting at the Pentagon.”

Steve nodded. “Peggy—” he started.

“Be careful,” she cut in. “The safe has an alarm. Something Howard designed, so God only knows. It’s also rigged to seal the room if the wrong code is punched more than once. This,” she continued, holding up a small device that looked a bit like a pager with red and green wires coming out of it, “should get you the combination. However, I can’t vouch for what other measures Howard may have used, so please try not to, I don’t know, blow out a wall or something. Whatever you think of Stane, we are his guests. That’s just… _rude_.”

“Thanks. I’ll try,” Steve said with a droll twist to the words as he pocketed the safecracking device.

“I’ll handle him,” she said, nodding at the security guard who stood next to an arched entry to a hallway, where a security guard was stationed to keep guests from wandering to the private areas. She gave Steve’s arm a reassuring pat and moved away, saying something to the burly security guard in a quiet enough tone that even Steve couldn’t hear it over the din of laughter, music and voices. Soon enough, the man was trailing behind her as she swept her way towards the ballroom, where the orchestra had started on another song Steve didn’t recognize.

Not wanting to waste any precious time, Steve hurried down the hallway, following it as it wound its way behind the foyer and emptied into a long, straight hall lined in a plush, red carpet with doors on either side. They were all closed for the evening, though Steve’s mind conjured the layout easy enough. Office and conference room for when Howard needed to work from the house. Maid’s closet. Bathroom. A parlor that had been converted to an exercise room, according to Peggy. Music room. Tony’s mother had played piano, Steve recalled, glancing at it as he passed with a slight pang somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Billiards room. Then, _there_ , he thought, slowing to a stop. Howard’s private study.

Steve reached out, hand hovering over the doorknob. He swallowed, and glanced behind him. The hall was empty. If Peggy was wrong, and Howard’s notes and plans weren’t in his safe, then Steve was stuck here, in this time, with the burden of a knowledge that he wasn’t sure he could bear. Could he tell her? Could they figure out some way to stop it if they knew what was coming? They hadn’t before.

Well. Maybe Tony had. Or would have. Maybe. If things had been different.

If any of them could have, it would have been Tony. But, Tony was gone, and everyone kept looking at Steve. I can’t do this alone, he wanted to shout at them, but he couldn’t, so he had offered to do it alone, anyway. And now, he was here, alone in a way he hadn’t been before, when the future was terrifying and awful, but limitless and wonderful, too. If this didn’t work, he wasn’t sure he could handle doing this all over again, not when the future held nothing but a bleak emptiness. 

This plan---this crazy, pulled-together-from-nothing scrap of a plan that barely made sense if Steve tried to think about it too hard—it was always going to fail. They had all known it, he supposed. Not that he had imagined it failing quite like this, with him stuck in a past where he didn’t belong, trying to save a future he never wanted. He had just imagined it not working at all, and someone finally saying that maybe, just maybe, they couldn’t undo this. That maybe they had to live with it.

That was probably the one thing he couldn’t do. Maybe they had known it. Bruce, at least. Steve thought there had been a moment just as he stepped onto the platform when Bruce had looked at him and understood. Because Bruce would be ready to stop trying soon, to start trying to adjust, to live with it, and Steve couldn’t. Wouldn’t. And they both knew it, and saw the moment when they parted ways on the horizon, inching closer, and neither of them able to do anything to stop it.

Well. He was in it for real now, he supposed. A man out of time once again. Sometimes, that seemed like all he could ever be, like destiny had already chosen his lot for him, and he just had to spin the wheel to see where he landed. 

Peggy would accuse him of being maudlin, Steve thought with a slight smile.

Steve sucked in a breath, shook his head to clear it. He tried the knob, but it was locked. With another quick glance over his shoulder, he gave it a hard twist and pushed the door open. The study was dark, save for a single lamp on a large, wooden desk that spilled a soft glow around it and light flooding in from outside where guests strolled through the gardens some ways away. On his left, the large, pastoral hunting scene covered Howard’s safe behind a façade of red-coated equestrians. Papers were strewn on top of the desk in seemingly haphazard fashion, as if someone had been looking for something and been in a hurry. Behind the desk, tall windows faced the gardens at the back of the house. One of those swivel leather office chairs sat behind it, with its back to him. A mirror-paneled bar stood to Steve’s right, with a half-filled crystal decanter and three glasses. Books lined one wall, all crisp-spined and straight-paged. For show, not reading, Steve thought to himself, wondering again at the man Howard had become. A thick rug covered the floor, and a wrought-iron chandelier with small lamp shades covering the bulbs hung overhead. Two overstuffed leather chairs stood sentinel in front of a cold fireplace with a small table between them. An ashtray, free of any actual ashes, and a cigar cutter sat on the table.

He started across the room towards the wall of books, which concealed Howard’s safe, then stopped halfway there. 

Three glasses. 

_Three_.

“This is private,” a slurred male voice said. It was familiar, but off somehow, and at first, Steve couldn’t place it. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Steve’s heart thudded against his chest, muscles tensing. He had the wild thought that he was caught. That the person _knew_ , knew everything, which made no sense, but he couldn’t quite shake it. The office chair slowly swiveled around to face Steve, who stared, unable to move as a jolt of shock rocked through him, nearly sending him to his knees. He staggered, but kept his balance, even as all the energy seemed to drain out of him.

You’re not supposed to be here, Steve thought back, turning the words over in his mind until a warm glow that started somewhere in his chest pushed them aside.

Tony. 

God, _Tony_. Because it was. Younger, yes, obviously. He would have been, what? Steve’s mind skidded over the numbers…twenty-one, Steve realized. Right around Steve’s age when he joined the Army. Steve had only ever known Tony as older than him, brash and bold, with years of tragedy and triumph under his belt. Larger than life. That was Tony.

There was a softness to this Tony that was gone by the time Steve knew him. A fullness to his features, almost like he was a drawing of Tony that had been smudged at the edges. He was dressed in the remnants of a tuxedo. The bow tie hung loose, the jacket gone, and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to just below his elbows. There were ink stains on the underside of one forearm where it must have been laying atop the papers that littered the desk. He was blinking up at Steve, slack, narrowed eyes slowly going wide. Steve had to stifle the impulse to run over and grab him, just to assure himself that Tony was real and alive and _here_.

Steve stared at him. Tony. Right here, in the flesh, alive, whole, and—and _here_. I’m not alone, Steve thought, and it was joyous just for that heartbeat. Tony was here, and he wasn’t alone, not anymore. You’re not supposed to be here, Steve thought again, though the words had no weight to them this time. 

You aren’t supposed to be here, Steve’s mind sing-songed, giddy and buoyant, overflowing with relief and joy. Peggy had assured him. Tony was at MIT. He had refused every chance to leave, even staying over the summer to work on his thesis project. He wasn’t coming to Stane’s party. He hated these things, Peggy said, and if Tony had somehow been roped into going, she would have heard about it. Stane would have made sure of that. Except, Tony was here. Really here.

For that one moment, Steve let himself bask in it, that warm glow of hope and happiness, before reality crashed back down. 

This wasn’t his Tony. 

That—that hadn’t been what he had meant to think, Steve realized with a sudden start. This wasn’t the Tony he knew, or the one who knew him. This was Tony before Afghanistan and Iron Man. Before aliens and portals. Before Siberia. Before Steve had barreled into his life.

“Wait. Strike that. Forget I said it. What am I saying? Stupid. You have _definitely_ come to the right place,” Tony said, slashing the hand holding the drink through the air and tossing his head a little with the motion. “Lost your way, soldier?”

“I—yes, er. How did you—” Steve stammered.

“Eh,” Tony cut in, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “You stand like a soldier. Been around enough of them to know. Plus, like, eighty percent of the guest list is soldiers, so. I played the odds.”

Tony pushed the chair away from the desk. Too hard. It wheeled backwards and banged against the wall, not that Tony seemed to much care, just frowned down at the chair with a sort of bemused surprise, as if only just realizing the chair was on wheels, but finding it delightful. 

“Whoa. Totally meant to do that,” Tony said quickly, as he reached out and steadied himself on the desk. He grinned up at Steve, biting his lip a bit and eyeing Steve up and down with an open, brazen curiosity.

Well, that was…unexpected, Steve managed to register as he stared down at this younger version of Tony. 

“Sorry,” Steve said quickly, trying to force his mind to think of anything other than the fact that Tony was here, right in front of him, alive and well. Mostly well, Steve amended. Clearly a few drinks past sobriety. “I was—I got turned around.”

“Uh-huh. Always kind of liked getting turned around myself,” Tony said, his eyes sparkling and mouth forming a little moue, like he was sharing a joke. 

Steve frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Okay, clearly that—that was—Steve had been in the Army for Christ’s sake. In _France_. He knew a double entendre when he heard it, clumsy as that attempt may have been. Not that Tony didn’t say things like that from time to time. He liked to shock Steve, or try to, particularly early on, when Tony seemed to want to constantly see if he could get a rise out of Steve. 

“So,” Tony began, bracing his hands on the desk and slowing pushing himself up as he leaned over the desk for balance, and okay, well, that position wasn’t even _trying_ to be subtle. 

Jesus Christ, Steve thought, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. What the hell was Tony playing at? Doing that with---at his age—with some stranger who just happens to stumble into the room? Who could be anyone? Who could…could just…take advantage? Steve wanted to tell him to stop. Quit playing or—or joking or whatever he was doing. He couldn’t seem to get any words out though, so he just stared, realizing at some point that his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.

Tony shot him a satisfied smirk.

He stood up then, obviously too quickly, swaying slightly with the motion. Steve watched him down the last of the contents of the glass, then smack his lips together in satisfaction before setting it down on top of one of the stacks of papers on the desk. He rounded the desk, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on Steve, head tilted to the side with an intensely curious look that bordered on…well…appraising was the best Steve could come up with. 

Okay, so, Tony—this Tony, anyway—was interested. He was young, after all. It wasn’t like Steve didn’t know what he looked like and how that could sometimes affect people. It was just…well, this was Tony, and Tony never seemed like he even noticed how Steve looked, much less was affected or, well… _interested_. This Tony definitely was, though. No misinterpreting that. Of course, Tony had probably changed a lot over the years. A lot. Clearly, Tony had a completely different type by the time Steve met him. Obviously he did, seeing as how he was with Ms. Potts, as on-again-off-again as that relationship seemed to be. 

Steve shook his head a bit and shifted on his feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He wasn’t sure why he should be, exactly, but he was. It wasn’t as though Steve could really object, considering that he knew that he was staring at Tony the way a starving man might stare through the window of a fancy restaurant. He should make some kind of excuse and go find Peggy. He should get out of here. Every instinct was telling him to go, but he couldn’t seem to move, so he just stood there, drinking Tony in. He hadn’t thought he would ever see him again, if he was being honest with himself. He’d certainly never imagined it would happen like this.

He was in socks, Steve realized as he looked Tony over. It made him seem younger somehow. Smaller. Tony’s personality always seemed to fill whatever room he was in, all bombast and bluster, quick quips and glib talk that mostly went over Steve’s head. This Tony, though…oh, the force of personality was there, or the beginnings of it. That magnetism that drew people to him and rolled right past so many over the years that Steve figured Tony probably barely noticed. The shine, as Steve’s mom would have called it. People wanted to be him, to be near him, to have him notice them.

People, Steve thought, almost snorting at himself. Right. _People_ wanted that.

Stopping at one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the dark fireplace, Tony leaned on it, or tried to. His arm promptly slipped off the curved top, and he stumbled forward before righting himself, cheeks going pink. Steve had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Okay, so maybe Tony was a few years off from being The Tony Stark, Steve admitted to himself. It was kind of…refreshing, in a way, to see him so awkward and self-conscious.

“So,” Tony said, this time leaning far more carefully against the chair and looking down a few times with a blinking, wide-eyed glance just to be sure he wasn’t going to slip off again. “Don’t you just look like a bad coping mechanism waiting to happen?”

“I—what?” Steve stammered, trying to get his mind to leave the fact that Tony was flirting with him behind long enough to catch up with whatever it was Tony was rambling on about.

“I’m Tony, by the way. Tony Stark. Of…of the…this,” Tony added, waving a hand around and rolling his eyes. “This is where you tell me who you are,” Tony added with a bit of pointed encouragement to the words when Steve didn’t respond right away. “Please say ‘Obie’s way of helping Tony through the stages of grief,’” he finished, putting his hands together as if praying and giving a beseeching look to the ceiling. 

“I’m—huh? Wait, what?” Steve broke off, trying to process Tony’s words. 

“All that _and_ a way with words. Damn. Truly, the whole package,” Tony trailed off, waving his hand up and down in the air in front of him. “Fifteen year old me, this is for you. God knows, I owe him for the perm,” Tony added with a shudder. “And also, probably the coke,” he added with a shrug, sucking in a breath and swaying a little on his feet, making a slightly surprised oof-sound that punched a bit of air out of him. “Anyway,” he continued, giving his head a shake, “so, Gorgeous, got a name?”

“Steve. It’s—St--I’m Steve,” Steve replied. Wait. Was he? No, he was Roger. Roger Grant. Damn it. Tony had him all twisted in knots. At least that feeling was familiar, Steve supposed with a frustrated sigh.

Tony barked out a laugh, nearly making Steve jump. “Steve. Of course you are,” Tony grinned, nodding his head at Steve with a sort of delighted approval. Steve blinked at him. “Steve,” Tony said, drawing out the word as he smiled, slow and wide, then very deliberately licked his lips. Steve frowned harder at him. It didn’t seem to have the desired effect, though, why start now, Steve mentally chided himself. “Hello there, _Steve_. Come here often? If I play my cards right, let’s say that’s a definite yes.”

Tony languidly curved his body against the chair, looking up at Steve from under too-long lashes, a small, inviting smile puckering his mouth. It was such a—such an outlandish, ridiculous look, like something he had seen in a movie and was trying to copy, Steve thought, biting his cheek to keep in a laugh. His Tony—well, future Tony—would have probably had Wanda open up a hole in the Earth before letting Steve see this, let alone having it directed at him. And what had he said? Good God, something about coming here often, and then—Jesus, fuck, Steve thought, mind skidding to a halt as he processed what Tony was saying.

Dear Lord, Tony was _flirting_ with him, Steve realized, back going straight with shock. Blatantly flirting. There wasn’t really a way to misconstrue the exaggerated come-hither look Tony was throwing Steve’s way. Not just flirting, but, well…propositioning him.

Steve knew Tony wasn’t particularly discriminating about his partners, at least before Ms. Potts. Early on, when Steve was first out of the ice, someone at SHIELD made sure Steve saw the videos, though he had clicked away as soon as he realized what he was seeing. It had felt intrusive. Tony was Howard’s son, after all, a possible teammate, someone who had already done his fair share to keep the world safe, and—well, Steve hadn’t liked it. But it had told him enough to know that Tony wasn’t what they called straight these days, not that Tony ever tried to hide anything, really. He seemed to prefer to shove it in people’s faces first, like some kind of preemptive strike. Steve wondered, now, seeing him like this, if that’s exactly what it had been.

“I—no, I—I’ve never been here—I’m not. No one sent me. I’m a guest. I got lost, I—this is my first time,” Steve said, struggling to form words while his mind reeled with the combined realizations of Tony being here, Tony being so desperately young, and Tony hitting on Steve like he was one of the punching bags at the gym. That was…not what Steve had expected. At all.

“Lucky me,” Tony quipped, smiling widely. 

“What? No! Would you stop that?” Steve demanded, running a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?” Tony asked. He did not sound the least bit sorry.

“Yes,” Steve replied. “You don’t even know me. I could be anyone.”

“Kinda the point, soldier,” Tony shrugged. He didn’t seem particularly offended, accepting the rejection with an air of equanimity. 

“You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t just say those things to people,” Steve admonished, shaking his head. It was 1992, for Christ’s sake. He’d read up enough on history to know this wasn’t exactly the best time for gay men to be so open about things. 

“My mouth does tend to have a mind of his own,” Tony agreed with a lascivious leer that probably worked better on whatever blue movie Tony must have seen it in. “Eh,” Tony said, tossing up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sometimes, you just gotta take your shot.” Tony bit his lip, rolling it between his teeth and smiled wickedly up at Steve from under his lashes.

“Tony,” Steve said, voice low with warning.

“Ooooh, he’s getting riled up, now,” Tony grinned. There was a flash of something across his face that Steve couldn’t quite place. Discomfort, maybe, Steve thought, though that wasn’t quite right. Resignation, Steve’s mind corrected. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten smacked around by someone in denial. I don’t mind. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

Steve looked down at him, feeling his heart shatter into pieces. “Tony,” he breathed out, long and low, voice breaking. “I don’t want that,” Steve said quietly. 

He was proud that he managed to get anything out, though his voice was shaking. Anger, righteous and hot, coursed through him. Regret soured in his stomach like curdled milk. Distantly, like something remembered from a dream, Steve could almost feel his cheek scraping against brick, blood rushing down his throat, someone shouting fairy at him so loudly into his ear that it seemed to ring like a bell in his head, the man’s breath hot and heavy and stinking of drink. Bucky had knocked the guy on his ass, gotten Steve patched up back at his place so Steve’s Ma wouldn’t see the worst of it, all the while just keeping a grim silence between them that they never broke, not once, even years later.

I should have talked to you more, Steve thought. I’m sorry. I should have listened harder.

“Yeah, well,” Tony grimaced, looking down and away, his body stiffening. “Your loss.”

‘I don’t want that’ was somehow the same thing as ‘I don’t want you’ in whatever twisted mess of crossed wires that fed this Tony’s brain, Steve realized. 

“It’s not that—I mean, you’re…it’s not you. You’re just very young,” Steve settled on finally. “And I’m a lot older than you.” He tried to make the words gentle. At least that had the benefit of being true. Steve wasn’t sure what else he could say, though he could see Tony blinking rapidly for a quick moment before a mask of bravado settled in place. “And I don’t want to hurt you. I would never want that,” Steve said carefully. His eyes burned and his chest felt like steel bands were wrapped around it. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. He probably wasn’t going to ever get the chance to say anything to Tony again. Not to his Tony, anyway. He looked down at the floor for a long moment, then lifted his eyes back to Tony.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Steve said, keeping his eyes on Tony, drinking him in. I’m so sorry, he thought, feeling the familiar tug in his gut whenever he thought of Tony. I should have told you the truth from the beginning. All I could think about was not losing him again, not failing him again, and I just ended up doing that to you instead. “More sorry than you’ll ever know.”

“Yeah, well. Whatever. Party’s lame. I was bored,” Tony said, frowning slightly with confusion and blinking owlishly up at Steve. He swished a hand through the air, then his mouth twisted then, eyes narrowing. “Well, if you’re not part of Obie’s Little Boy Lost fantasy fulfillment department, that does beg the question what, exactly, you _are_ doing breaking into my father’s study—well, my study now, seeing as how he managed to drive himself into a tree on a deserted road with zero traffic. Can’t _imagine_ how that happened,” Tony sneered, words going caustic and bitter, then glanced away, eyes flitting briefly to the empty glass on the desk before he looked back at Steve. His gaze was openly curious now. Not particularly concerned, probably not like he should be, just interested.

Oh, Steve thought, stomach churning. That’s what he thinks happened? Of course that’s what he thinks happened, a voice said from the back of Steve’s mind. What did you imagine he thought? Steve hadn’t imagined. That was the problem. He hadn’t thought about what lie the truth might replace, only how much the truth would hurt. 

“Lost your way?” Tony repeated, though Steve could tell by the tone that Tony didn’t believe that for a minute. “That was it, right. Got lost, wandered off, something like that? Looking for the John? Going for a little tryst and took a wrong turn at the potted plant? Hiding from the date? She’s boring, is that it? Wants to talk about how deep R.E.M.’s music is? Thinks Perot has some good ideas, even if he looks like a missing Keebler elf. Reads every Grisham as soon as it comes out. Wanted to join the Peace Corps, but didn’t for very understandable reasons, of course. Keeps mentioning something called deforestation,” he rambled to a stop, probably noticing Steve staring at him. 

“Uh-huh, so, you were just wandering around, looking for some air, got lost…” Tony said in a slow voice, raising his eyebrows and canting his head to the side. “And so…you decided to break the doorknob of a locked room. Yeah, about that,” Tony continued, face squeezing up into a perturbed expression as his head bobbed back and forth, “Survey says?” He made a loud, honking sound out of the side of his mouth. “Um, yeah, sorry, total bullshit. Care to try that again? No?” Tony pressed as Steve stood there mutely. “Okay, Stranger-Danger, I’m like two seconds from triggering the silent alarm,” Tony said. Steve looked over at the desk. Tony followed his gaze. “Yes, fine, that threat’s better from over there. Point taken. Not my finest moment, here, I got it. I got sloppy because of the whole…” he made a triangle shape in the air with his hands. “No one would blame me. Anyway, I’m going to give you until the count of three to tell me what you’re doing here,” Tony offered. “I should’ve warned you already that I was a screamer, but, now you know. So. One,” Tony started, ticking off the number in the air with his finger.

“Tony,” Steve began in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone, then broke off, at a loss. What could he say that didn’t make this whole thing worse?

“I like how you say my name,” Tony said. “Two.” Steve’s eyes darted over to the desk. “You think you can stop me before I get to the alarm, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Steve replied honestly. 

“There were easier ways to pin me to the floor and make sure I couldn’t scream,” Tony pointed out. 

Steve wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. 

“Oh, look, he blushes. Cute. Three,” Tony said, sucking in a deep breath.

“I need to get into your father’s safe,” Steve blurted out. He reached up and rubbed at his temples, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you want to scream or call security or hit that button under the desk, go ahead. I’m not going to stop you. But, there’s something in the safe that I have to have. It’s important. Not—not money or jewels or whatever, it’s…just papers.”

“Papers?” Tony asked.

“Plans,” Steve clarified. 

“You want my father’s plans?” Tony said, chewing slowly on the words before his mouth flattened into a thin line. “This _is_ Obie, isn’t it? Damn it, I told him, we’re not doing that sort of—look, whatever it is that Obie thinks Howard was holding back on, let me be the first to assure you, Howard hadn’t had a good idea on his own in years.”

“Stane didn’t put me up to this, Tony. I’m here with Peggy Carter,” Steve said.

“Aunt Peggy? Bullshit,” Tony snapped. “No way she’d go for stealing Howard’s—okay, yeah, she totally would, but no. No way.”

“She’s here. Out in the ballroom. Go find her and ask, if you want,” Steve said, twisting around to sweep a hand towards the door. 

“You’re bluffing,” Tony scoffed.

“I’m really not,” Steve replied wearily. “Please. I just need one set of plans. They’re not…anything you can use. It’s for something that, uh, never even worked. I don’t want to—to make this more of a situation than it is. But, I need those plans, Tony. I can’t leave here without them. Peggy will get them back to you when…when we don’t need them anymore, I’m sure.”

“Right. Sure. You and Peggy Carter are here to steal plans—”

“Borrow,” Steve corrected.

“--to something Howard made that never worked. Why don’t you pull the other one? And I didn’t even mean it like that,” Tony snorted, slashing a hand through the air. “Plans for what?”

“To a machine,” Steve said. Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. It’s, I don’t know what he called it. It’s big. Has these huge coils in the center.” That seemed vague enough, or so Steve hoped. Would Tony know what it was? What it was meant to do? Did Howard talk to him about his failures just as much as he crowed over his successes? Somehow, Steve doubted it. Plus, it was technically classified.

“Huh,” Tony said, thrusting his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked at Steve again, brow furrowed, tongue twisting against his lips while he considered his options. That look, at least, was familiar enough to make Steve want to smile at the memory. “No clue,” Tony said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Look, Tony—" Steve began, his voice low and urgent, almost pleading. Peggy was probably already worried, and the longer he stayed here with Tony, well, that just didn’t seem like a good idea for a lot of reasons.

“See, the thing is,” Tony cut in. “Even if I wanted to give you the plans, Howard would never, in a million years, give me the code to his private safe, and the paranoid bastard rigged it with all kinds of countermeasures,” Tony said, nodding at the wall. Steve turned to look towards the wall where a portrait of an English hunting scene hid Howard’s safe. Peggy had said something along the same lines. “He was a bit worried about people taking his stuff. Can’t _imagine_ why,” Tony said pointedly, gaze sliding back to Steve.

“I know. I was going to,” Steve said, pulling out the small device that Peggy had given him. Tony gave it a look of utter contempt.

“Oh my God, is that a glorified autodialer? Seriously?” Tony said, stepping forward and taking the device out of Steve’s outstretched hand. “You’re going to crack Howard Stark’s personal safe with this? God, you really are desperate.”

“I can get in the safe, Tony. If you’d just—if I can have the room. Please,” Steve asked, stone-faced. Could he, though? Could he get past Howard’s defenses without damaging the plans? He regarded Tony, suddenly unsure, his stomach tying itself in knots. 

“This is never going to work,” Tony said, holding up the device in front of his face, then tossing it over his shoulder. “On the other hand, I could possibly be persuaded to help you.”

“You—you could?” Steve asked, dumbfounded for a moment. “You’d help?

“Maybe,” Tony said. “I mean, I don’t personally know the code. Obie does, though, I somehow doubt you want to ask him. But…I could maybe crack it for you. If it was worth my while, let’s say.”

“Worth your while?” Steve repeated.

“I mean,” Tony continued, taking his hands out of his pockets and pointing at his chest. “You get these plans you want so badly, and all I get is shot down. All in all, not how I was picturing this evening going. So, let’s say, we make a trade.”

“A trade? What kind of a trade?” Steve asked warily. 

“Well,” Tony said, sidling up closer to Steve and reaching out to trace a finger from the knot of Steve’s tie down the center of his chest. “I was thinking…a kiss,” he said, looking up at Steve through sinfully long lashes while Steve stared down at him, frozen in shock. “Just a kiss. How hard is that?” Tony asked, then very deliberately moved his thigh between Steve’s legs, rubbing ever so slightly. “Well, there’s at least potential.”

“Tony!” Steve said quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and moving back far enough to put some space between them. “I’m not—I’m not kissing you. It’s…it’s wrong. It’s…you’re,” Steve waved his hand up and down in the air between them. “You’re a kid, Tony!”

“I’m not a kid. I’ve got two Masters and a PhD and a company on the verge of bankruptcy. I’m not a fucking kid,” Tony spat back, jerking back and giving Steve a scathing look. 

“I’m sorry. I know. I didn’t mean it like…” Steve trailed off, dropping his hands from Tony’s arms. “You don’t want this, Tony. You’re just…you’re…hurting and you’re…I don’t know, trying to forget or—or trying to be someone you’re not, I don’t know, but this isn’t right. This isn’t you. I—I can’t.”

Steve shook his head. He had no idea what to do with any of this. He was in way over his head, and so was Tony, that much was clear.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” Tony shot back, twisting away. 

“Tony,” Steve husked out, reaching out a hand that hung there, suspended in midair between them. Sometimes, he felt like he was always reaching for Tony, never quite able to touch him, but he never imagined it quite like this.

Tony turned around and looked at him, long and hard, then, to Steve’s surprise, he took two long strides forward, grabbed Steve’s tuxedo jacket by the lapels and tugged at them, pressing himself against Steve’s body, eyes blazing. 

“Kiss me,” Tony breathed out. No artifice this time, just a demand, or a plea, Steve wasn’t sure which.

“I can’t,” Steve said. “Tony, please, you don’t know—”

“Kiss me,” Tony said again. His eyes were bright, color riding high on his cheeks. His breath smelled sweet, like too much liquor, but he was soft and warm and alive and _here._ “Kiss me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Why?” Steve asked, the word coming out wounded, like a raw, scraping sound.

“I don’t know. My inner romantic is calling the shots,” Tony said. “Kiss me.”

“Tony. I can’t, this isn’t right,” Steve insisted. “Why? Why this? Ask me for something I can do or give you or—”

“I like how you say my name,” Tony told him, stretching up on his toes until his mouth was almost level with Steve’s. “Kiss me,” he urged, this time, barely a whisper as his lips nudged at Steve’s.

“Tony,” Steve said again, though it didn’t sound right, it sounded distant, like he was at the bottom of a tunnel and there was a pounding in his ears that he realized was his heart. He felt the featherlight touch of Tony’s lips, warm and wet, against his. He should stop this. He needed to stop this. It had gone too far. He wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. To interact. Ripple effects, Steve thought, felt Tony’s tongue swipe across his bottom lip, and was gone. He groaned and dipped his head, capturing Tony’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

Tony’s palms widened and flattened against Steve’s chest and slid up, coiling around Steve’s neck as he leaned in, pulling Steve closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue flicked against the seam of Steve’s lips, almost hesitantly, and Steve heard him moan, felt triumph and wonder flooding his veins at the sound. Steve tilted his head, lost in the sensation of Tony’s mouth under his, opened his mouth and slid his tongue along Tony’s, pushing deep, exploring, tasting, and God, it was amazing. Tony gasped, hands scabbering against Steve’s neck, finding his collar and jerking him closer. The kiss turned wanton, obscene little sounds coming from Tony. Steve could feel his cock straining against his pants and Tony’s own erection jutting out against Steve’s thigh where Tony was rocking back and forth, seeking some kind of friction. Steve’s hands pawed at Tony’s back, winding through his hair, trying to pull him closer, closer, God, he needed him closer. A low, keening moan built between them, and Steve wasn’t sure who it was from. He didn’t care. Tony was here, alive and well, and it was just so good. So good to feel him like this. To make him feel like this, happy and cherished, the way Steve meant it to be, and God, where had that come from? He didn’t know and couldn’t bring himself to care. Tony was here. It was alright. He wasn’t alone anymore.

It was Tony who broke the kiss. He finally pulled back, staring wide-eyed up at Steve. His lips were swollen and red, slightly parted, his hands still holding on to Steve’s collar for purchase. 

“Holy shit,” Tony said in a shaky voice. He blinked rapidly, licked his tongue along his lips in a seemingly unconscious gesture that was far more seductive than anything he had tried before, and looked up at Steve with a wobbly, almost shy smile. 

Steve looked down at him in horror. Oh God. Oh God. What had he done? What had he—

“Tony, I—God, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m so sorry,” Steve husked out, slowly pulling back and steadying Tony on his feet. “I didn’t meant to—I shouldn’t have—I—"

“If you fucking apologize for that again, I really will scream,” Tony said. “Holy shit,” he said again, then beamed at Steve, touching two of his fingers lightly to his mouth. Steve didn’t think he even realized he was doing it. “Okay, so, you definitely kept your side of the bargain. Definitely. Ah. So. Yeah. The plans,” he said, clearing his throat and looking over at the window for a moment. Steve watched his throat work, saw his shoulders straighten as he sucked in a bracing breath.

“What?” Steve asked, the words not making sense for a moment. Then he remembered. One kiss. One kiss, and Tony would help him get the plans. 

“Never say I don’t keep my word,” Tony replied, clapping his hands together. “Okay, so, about the safe—”

“Forget it,” Steve said.

“What?” Tony asked, drawing back his head in confusion. 

“Forget it. The plans. Forget it. We’ll, I don’t know. Figure something else out,” Steve said, shaking his head. He had no idea what he was doing. He needed the plans. He needed to get home. He couldn’t think of why, but it seemed true. It was what was next. The next mission. The next war. That was what was waiting for him. He looked over at Tony.

“You don’t want the plans now? The super-important plans that you and my Godmother needed so badly that you were ready to Macgyver my dad’s safe and bust out of here? Those plans. You do remember those plans, right? From like two minutes ago,” Tony prodded.

“Yeah. I remember them. But, no deal, Tony,” Steve said. 

“Why?” Tony asked. His voice sounded small and genuinely confused. It made something in Steve’s chest twist. “What are you—what are you talking about?” Tony spluttered, giving Steve an almost annoyed look. “We both got what we wanted. I don’t see why you’re suddenly being such a damn prude about—”

“Because…you’re not something I trade, Tony,” Steve replied, grim and exhausted all of a sudden. “Not…not ever again. I’m sorry. For…all of this, God,” he broke off, hands going to his hips as he let his chin drop to his chest. He’d really screwed up on this one. He looked up and caught Tony staring at him, wide-eyed and confused. Maybe he hadn’t. He honestly didn’t know or care anymore. SHIELD could figure it out, eventually, like Peggy suggested. Maybe. Or not. It had seemed to be everything in the world a few minutes ago, and fifteen minutes in with Tony, and his whole worldview was shifting. Typical, Steve thought with a slight smile. He turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the broken doorknob.

“Wait. Wait! The—the plans,” Tony called out.

“I told you,” Steve started. 

“They’re on the desk,” Tony said, turning his head and nodding down at the large desk strewn with papers. 

“What?” Steve asked, hand hovering over the doorknob. He slowly turned and gave Tony a questioning look. 

Tony shrugged, almost apologetically, and bit his lip to the side. Steve couldn’t help following the movement. “The desk. They’re—they’re on the desk. I cracked the safe years ago.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but no words seemed to want to come out, so he just shook his head, a laugh bubbling up. “Of course you did.”

“Take them. Really. Please. I want you to—you should take them,” Tony said, swiping a hand over his mouth and ducking his head, letting his hair fall over his face to shield his expression. He walked over to the desk and shifted some papers around, digging through a stack until he found what he was looking for. He turned around and leaned back against the desk, holding out the papers. “Here. This is it, isn’t it?”

Steve walked over to the desk to stand by Tony and slowly pulled the stack of papers from Tony’s hand. It was the machine, alright. Howard’s time travel machine. Complete with detailed instructions, and even specs and notes in the margins where he had doodled some of the equations for what Bruce and Shuri once told him were the power requirements for the vita-rays and incorporating the Tesseract technology. They looked like gibberish to Steve, but he remembered them.

He could go home.

Having accomplished nothing, he realized as he gazed down at the drawings until the lines blurred. 

“Hey, uh, Steve? You okay?” Tony asked, reaching out a hesitant hand and finally settling on cupping it around Steve’s wrist after a couple of aborted attempts. Through his suit, Steve could feel the warmth of Tony’s hand there, solid and real and here. He looked over at him.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” Steve replied. “Thank you,” he added, holding up the stack of papers. 

“No problem,” Tony said, his voice flat and even. He was looking at Steve a bit oddly, like he was trying to figure something out. His hand dropped away from Steve’s wrist, and Steve looked down at the place where it had been, startled by the sudden feeling of loss.

“I should go,” Steve said. Tony nodded, biting at his lip again, seemingly distracted for a moment. He blinked and looked up at Steve. He lifted his hand up and brushed a stray lock of hair from Steve’s forehead. Steve’s whole body went still, like he was pinned in place, one of those insects on a board.

“Thank you,” Tony said softly. “For the…you know.” He gave Steve a one-sided smile. 

“Goodbye, Tony,” Steve said. He rolled up the papers and wrapped a rubber band around them, then looked back at Tony. “Don’t…” he broke off with a grimace, then sighed. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You know me, that’s all I do,” Tony said, mouth flattening. “A-plus in taking care of myself, if you know what I—"

“Tony,” Steve cut in. “Stop. Just stop. You’re so much more than you think you are.”

“Well,” Tony said after a moment, his mouth twisting into a wry grimace. “Not like there isn’t a lot of room to go up from there.”

“You have no idea. What you’re capable of. Who you really are. You’re—God, Tony, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met,” Steve said, his voice going soft and urgent. 

“Bullshit,” Tony snorted. “Because I kissed you? Newsflash, we call that selfish and manipulative, two vital pieces of the Tony Stark oeuvre, trust me. Don’t you need to go? Smart to—to duck out while you can.”

“You are,” Steve insisted, swallowing hard. “I’m not lying.” He winced. “Not about this.”

“I’m not,” Tony said, looking away. His hands came up to rub at his upper arms. Steve wanted to hug him, but wasn’t sure he could let go if he did. And he had to let go. Of this Tony. Of his Tony. Of everything. “You make me sound like some kind of hero, and I’m not. Like, at all. I’m,” he stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m a mess, to be honest.”

“You won’t always be,” Steve said. A shard of regret burrowed deep in his chest as he looked down at Tony. Tony, who was going to face Afghanistan and Stane. Aliens and portals. There was so much Steve wanted to spare him. He couldn’t, he knew. Bruce’s admonition rang in his head like a bell. Unintended consequences and all that. A pebble in an ocean. You’re going to know betrayal. You’re going to find love and be loved in return. You’re going to be a hero. You’re going to sacrifice everything. There were so many things he wanted to tell Tony. So many pebbles to drop. Steve sighed and headed for the door.

“Yeah, well,” Tony stammered, looking down where his sock-covered toes dug into the carpet as Steve’s gaze was drawn back to him. “Don’t suppose I can get your number?” Tony asked with a dubious look, raising his eyebrows, almost in challenge.

“No,” Steve said, though Tony didn’t seem to be surprised or even particularly hurt by the curt response. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” Tony just nodded, gnawing at his bottom lip again. He opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut again and glanced up at Steve with a shrewd gleam in his eye. 

“I could find you,” Tony said.

“You could try,” Steve said, feeling himself smile. 

“I think I will,” Tony said, eyes bright and fierce with determination. “I will.”

“Goodbye, Tony,” Steve said again, opening the study door, one hand catching on the frame. He looked back over his shoulder at where Tony leaned against the desk, arms crossed in front of him, a hard-to-read look in his eyes. 

A pebble in an ocean, Steve thought to himself. Tony was gone. His Tony. He had stopped trying to get himself not to think of Tony that way. This Tony and his Tony. A pebble in an ocean. A ripple. Unintended consequences. Could it be worse, he wondered. Could it really be worse than what waited back on the other side of Howard’s machine?

He owed it to Tony. That was what it came down to. He couldn’t trade on Tony’s happiness, and that was what he had been doing. Tony was gone. The universe was in ruins.

He wasn’t ever going to get the chance again. It felt right. He thought maybe he had known what he was going to say when he walked in the room and saw Tony, only to get derailed by Tony’s flirtation. He sucked in a breath and raised his eyes to Tony’s.

“A man named James Buchanan Barnes killed your parents. He was a prisoner of war. For decades. Brainwashed by a group called Hydra, and then the Soviet Union. They ordered the hit. He didn’t know what he was doing. But, it was him. Not Howard’s drinking. Not…whatever you thought it was,” Steve said, surprised at how easy it was to say. He supposed it didn’t really matter now. He couldn’t mess this up worse than he had the first time. At least, he didn’t think so. Tony was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth forming an ‘O’. “He’s a good man, Tony. He would never have done that in his right mind. I’m sorry I’m telling you now, like this. I owe you both better. I hope you can find a way to forgive him.”

"Bucky Bar--what? But, he's--he's de--" Tony began, shaking his head.

Steve closed the door on whatever Tony was about to say, slamming it shut so hard the frame bent in the doorjam, effectively locking it tight. He stared at it for a moment. Heard Tony’s muffled shout on the other side. It wouldn’t be long, Steve thought with a small, pride-filled smile. He turned and sprinted down the hallway.

Somehow, he got Peggy’s attention. Somehow, their driver got them out of there. Somehow, Steve had the plans for Howard’s machine in his hand. 

The whole evening felt like a dream. Far too surreal to be real and more real than anything else had been in a long time. 

It took a while to get Howard’s machine in working order. Steve wasn’t sure what kinds of favors Peggy had to call in to get her hands on the Tesseract, but the glowing, blue cube arrived a couple of days before they were scheduled to try it. 

He had no idea what he was going back to. The idea that it might be what he left probably scared him the most. Would the machine even work again? Would he make it back to his time or hop around through the years, waiting for time to finally catch up to him? His mission had been a dismal failure. No Tesseract to bring back. Loki’s staff didn’t exist in this time, no mind stone, even if he thought it was worth losing Wanda and Vision, and their powers, to get it. The time stone was out of his reach, protected by ancient arts in an unreachable sanctum. 

He had nothing. He’d failed.

“He asks me about you, you know,” Peggy said. It was the day of their first attempt. The actual lab rat they’d tried it on had disappeared, never to be heard from again. Steve hoped that was a good sign. No one said anything, one way or the other, only that the machine had worked in some way. He’d take his chances.

Steve looked over at her in surprise. It wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned Tony, but it was the first time she said anything about Tony asking about him. 

“Pesters me, to be exact,” Peggy added with a small smile. 

“What did you tell him?” Steve asked.

“That I didn’t know what he was talking about. I’d attended the event alone. Clearly, someone was pulling his leg or trying to gain favor,” she replied, her smile going catlike. “I rather think he didn’t believe me.” She patted his arm, just above his wrist. It made him think of Tony. A lot of things did that lately, Steve admitted to himself with a rueful, deprecating twist of his lips as he tugged the final leather glove on his hand.

He thought about the way Tony felt against him. The way Tony smiled. The way Tony’s mouth tasted under his.

He thought about a _lot_ of things.

“Take care of him, Peg. He needs someone,” Steve said. 

She regarded him for a moment, then nodded, hair swinging against her cheek. “I suppose we all do.” She paused and looked over towards the machine where it sat on the platform. One of the white-coated SHIELD techs was hooking something up to the base. Already, it hummed, low and steady, like it was waiting. “I can’t convince you to stay, hmmm? No,” she sighed. “No, of course not. That wouldn’t do, would it?” she asked, her voice laden with a heavy sadness. “I hope your future is what you want it to be, Steve. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know,” Steve replied. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He was so tired. She took his hand in her own and held it, warm and solid. Steve thought about Tony.

Then it was time. Slowly, he stood and walked up to the platform. His limbs felt leaden. Everyone was watching, though their eyes were covered by darkened safety goggles. Steve stepped into the coils. I remember this part, he thought, waiting while they primed the machine and entered whatever calculations remained. He peered at Peggy, watching him from behind a partition of glass. She held up her hand and placed it against the window. He waved. He thought she might be crying. He wanted to tell her not to be sad, then realized his own cheeks were wet. Someone started a countdown.

Steve closed his eyes. A bright light burst behind his lids, brighter than any normal light, blinding him. His stomach swooped. Pain seared through his skull, like it was breaking apart from the inside, or needed to, he wasn’t sure which. He thought he was glad he hadn’t eaten, and then the world shifted and he was weightless for a flash of a second, floating, suspended, then…down.

He had the sense of being down. His back and legs were flat against something hard. Carefully, Steve opened his eyes. It was dark. Not pitch black, but dark. He was laying on something hard and cold, but smooth, like metal or tile. He couldn’t see much, though a few lights of different colors glowed on a panel on what Steve assumed was the wall. It felt…different. Unfamiliar. It definitely wasn’t Shuri’s lab in Wakanda, that was for sure.

His throat was parched. He remembered that from before. That was a good sign, he supposed. Gingerly, he propped himself up on his elbow. Behind him, he could see the coils of the machine, just dark loops of shadows, but he knew it well enough by now to recognize it. So, he was somewhere with the machine, but…not the SHIELD lab. And not Shuri’s lab.

That didn’t narrow it down a whole lot.

A stabbing pain split his head, making him gasp. _Well, I’m not leaving it at SHIELD, Steve_.

What? His head swiveled. “Who’s there?” he demanded, sitting up quickly enough to make bile rise in his throat. He looked down and frowned in confusion. He was wearing, well…pajama pants, he supposed they were called. That was odd. He’d worn his uniform going through the first time, then again going back. And…he reached up, cupping his jaw. His face was smooth. His beard was gone.

“Don’t be alarmed, Captain Rogers,” a lilting voice announced from overhead. Steve jumped and looked up. 

“Friday?” Steve managed. 

“I believe this is the situation we have been preparing for. You’re safe. You’re in Avengers Tower. The date is November twentieth, two-thousand and seventeen,” Friday said.

“2017?” Steve parroted. The Tower? What situation? His head pounded. He reached up and rubbed the heel of his hand at the juncture of his brow, trying to find some relief. 

_We don’t know when it’s going to happen_.

The voice rang in his head. Familiar, but…he shook his head. 

“Yes. Your heartrate is elevated. Shall I suggest some deep breathing exercises?” Friday’s disembodied voice asked.

“No. No, I’m—I’m just…I’m…” Steve trailed off. “We’ve been preparing for this. Who’s we?”

“Oh my God, there you are, thank fuck, Steve, you scared me half to death,” Tony shouted as he barreled through the door. “Is it—is it now? It is, isn’t it. It’s happening. Shit. Friday, a bit of mood lighting. Eh, not too much. There, that’s good,” Tony said, sinking to his knees next to Steve. 

Steve stared up at him, mouth agape, no words coming out. Another stab of pain split his skull, this one like a hammer-blow. 

_I’m just saying, there are some seriously awkward times for it to happen, Steve. Think about it! Stop laughing. This is serious. Can you be seri—oh, really? That’s how you want to play this, huh, well, two can play that game._

Warmth bloomed in Steve’s chest. Happiness. Joy. Laughter. He could remember how it sounded, but he was sure he’d never heard Tony laugh like that, except he had. He’d heard it over and over. Memories flooded his mind all at once, like a deck of cards that had been dropped to scatter across the floor. He could see them all, just couldn’t make any order of it.

“Tony,” Steve choked out. “You’re—you’re here. You’re alive, you’re—"

“Yeah,” Tony said softly, reaching out to brush a hand across Steve’s brow. That was familiar in a different way. Comforting. You did that before, Steve thought, though he couldn’t quite grasp the memory of when. His head throbbed. “It’s okay. I’m here. Friday, what’s the ETA on Bruce?”

“He’s on his way, Boss,” Friday answered. 

“What’s happening? What’s going on, Tony, what—what is all this?” Steve hissed, looking around. The room was huge. Howard’s machine stood at the center. There weren’t any windows, just what looked like a panel of screens and monitors. “I was just…you were…” He stopped. He didn’t know. Nothing made sense.

“His pulse is spiking,” Friday said.

“Steve, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m right here. Stay with me, okay? Just stay with me. I know this is a lot. Try to stay calm. Can you do that?” Tony asked carefully.

His head hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut against another wave of pain.

_Stay with me, Steve. You hear me? Don’t you do this. Don’t you dare do this._

_Sir? Sir, you’re going to have to let us treat him. He needs medical attention, Sir, please, he has internal injuries. We need to get him to surgery._

“The headaches will pass. We, uh, think. We’re pretty sure,” Tony said. “Uh, Me, Bruce and Helen,” he clarified, wagging his head back and forth with a grimace. “We think they’ll pass once—once this part is done. Okay, so you are probably appropriately freaked out right now.”

“Tony. What’s going on? Where am I?” Steve asked. Tony sighed, wiped a hand over his face and got up, returning with a blanket, which he wrapped around Steve’s shoulders. 

“I did not expect this to happen tonight—”

_Come on, when was the last time we were both home with the Tower to ourselves?_

Steve winced. His head throbbed.

“--Guess you never expect the Spanish Inquisition, right?” Tony asked with a brittle smile. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just—I’m trying to figure out how to say this. I practiced it God knows how many times, but now, it’s happening, and…well. Okay. Okay, so, here we go.”

“Tony? Steve?” a voice called out, making Steve’s head turn and setting off another bout of dizziness.

“Oh, thank God, it’s Bruce,” Tony said, covering his face with his hands for a moment. “Bruce, it’s happening. Steve’s…” he waved his hand at the machine.

“Now? It’s happening now? Wow,” Bruce said in an awed voice. “Amazing.”

“Okay, so…well…what do you remember?” Tony asked. “The last thing you remember. Right before you woke up here.”

“I was…standing in the machine. In 1992,” Steve said. 

“Right,” Tony replied, nodding. “At SHIELD. With Peggy. She helped get you back here. Er, now. God, this is weird when it’s actually happening and not just theoretical.” 

“Try to, I don’t know, like…think about it again,” Bruce suggested. “Where were you, right before you were here?” he asked, glancing at Tony. 

“I told you, I was—” Steve broke off, his head bursting open. 

His mind filled with images, one after the other, like a endless ticker tape of them. Tony, curled up against him. Tony, smiling up at him, soft and sleepy-eyed. Tony, with his head thrown back, face a rictus of ecstasy. 

Love, contentment, pleasure, all of it rolled over him at once in some kind of cacophony. Too much, like the emotions were yelling at him. He grasped both sides of his head with his hands and squeezed, as if he could excise them somehow if he pushed hard enough.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tony soothed, reaching out to stroke Steve’s head. “Bruce?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some—but, it’s gonna knock him out,” Bruce warned.

“No!” Steve shouted. “No. I want—I need to know. Please. What’s happening? What’s in my head? There are things in my head, things that aren’t real, Tony, what—what the hell is going on?”

“They are real. Very real,” Tony said, almost like he was apologizing for it. Steve stared at him. Tony rolled his lips together and swallowed, glancing away for a moment before looking back at Steve. “You--some future you, anyway, or, well you, now, I guess. God this is confusing. Anyway, you used my Dad’s old time machine to go back to 1992. Where you met me at Obie’s little dog-and-pony show.”

Steve nodded. His mind reached for the memory. Pain lanced through him again.

“So, we met. And, well,” Tony stopped, clearing his throat. “You kind of made an impression.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Steve began, only to have Tony wave him off. He was looking down at Steve with a pained, awed expression, his eyes shining bright, throat working as he struggled to get the words out.

“I found you,” Tony said softly. “I told you I would.”

_Cold. Dark. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe, God, can’t breathe, can’t—_

_It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, Captain. Everything’s alright now._

Tony’s face, hair stringy and wet where it clung to the sides of the helmet, filled Steve’s mind. Waking up screaming and Tony there by the bed, out of breath and wild-eyed, telling him he was okay, giving him the date, turning on the lights and having Jarvis warm up the room. Waking up and Tony there. Tony there.

“You found me,” Steve said, his voice slow and thick-tongued.

“I did,” Tony replied, eyes going rounded and soft. He clasped his hand around Steve’s wrist, holding him tight. 

I’ve always liked that, Steve thought, and realized it was true and the thought didn’t hurt. 

“I was almost twenty-two and scared as hell about what was coming, making a shitton of bad life decisions, and then I went to a party at my parents’ old house, got plastered and met,” Tony broke off, tilting his head to the side as he regarded Steve, face going waxy and eyes bright. “Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. I didn’t put it together right away, of course. I mean, you looked like him. And, I’d, um, studied up enough on that to know, let’s just say. Tease me later.”

_You were a fan, huh?_

_No idea what you are talking about. Sign this poster here._

Steve’s head throbbed. Not as badly as before, though, he noticed.

“You looked like him, you said your name was Steve…sure, I thought that was just some part of the whole fantasy thing at first, but then,” Tony’s mouth flattened. “You wanted the plans. I’d barely looked at them, but I knew what they were. What he was going for, I mean. Time travel. A wormhole of some kind, but the math was way, way wrong. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that he was using the Tesseract for the basis of his calculations.”

“You—you knew it was me?” Steve asked.

“I had the thought. Crazy as it seemed at the time. I was pretty sure I was drunk and horny and that was half of it, but then you name dropped Barnes, and, well, it was too much to be a coincidence,” Tony said. “Plus, Aunt Peggy, while a far better liar than you, wasn’t exactly against my little exploration kick. She didn’t break, I’ll give her that, but, well. Two-and-two together, ah. Yeah. I figured it was you. Captain America from the future, crazy as that sounds. Even crazier was that after a while, I convinced myself that you knew me. In the future. That--that maybe that meant something.”

“You found me?” Steve asked. “You found me,” he repeated, this time with an edge of wonder in his voice as the memory filled his mind again. Tony, in the suit, holding his hand, telling him it was okay, that he was safe.

“Happiest day of my life. Well, right up until last year, I guess,” Tony said, glancing to the side where Bruce pulled a face. 

_We should elope._

_Can’t. Bought thirty pounds of shrimp._

“I guess you could say it became something of a mission in life to find you,” Tony said, eyes on Steve. “Then, I did, and, well.”

_Come on, take my hand. You’ll love it, I swear._

_I think flying is more third date material, Tony._

“We’re—we’re together,” Steve stammered.

“Yes. Very much so,” Tony said. He nodded down at Steve’s hand where a band of intertwined red and gold metal circled his finger. 

Pain pounded against Steve’s head again and he closed his eyes, breathing through it. 

_I love you, Tony. More than anything._

It wasn’t just memories, but the feelings that went with them this time, bright and beautiful, in a rush of emotion, all attached to images of Tony. Tony in the suit, soaring above him. Tony in a tuxedo. Tony in the workshop, fingers flying over a keyboard. Tony grinning up at him from under the covers, a teasing sparkle in his eye. Tony on the ground in what remained of a New York street, entreating Steve to kiss him.

“Ah, yeah, about that,” Bruce interjected, drawing Steve from his reverie. “The headaches. See, we’ve been calling this the convergence. Because what’s happening now, I mean, it’s just theory, because no one’s ever—right, right,” he caught himself as Tony slapped his shoulder. “You changed the past. Enough that it affected who you became. Tony found you, not SHIELD. You two, you know, did your little thing, whatever. What? I’m—I’m, it’s the shorthand version, okay? Don’t look at me like that. Okay, so, anyway, then the Chitauri came and all of that. Meanwhile, we know that some version of you went back in time. Things were so dire in some future reality that you took that chance.”

“Thanos,” Steve said, straightening up. “Thanos is coming. The stones, he—”

“Yeah. Yeah, we figured that was it,” Tony said. “Well, Thor did, after his little Vision quest thing. And then there was this Strange guy. Not strange guy. His name is Strange. Not odd. Actually Stra—you know, forget it. Anyhoo, big bad is coming, wants his stones, bad things for all, yadda, yadda.”

“Tony, Thanos is serious. He wipes out half the universe. We have to—to do _something_ ,” Steve said, his voice raw.

“We did,” Tony said. “We figured out that you were going back in time to get the Tesseract. Only one that made sense. Which meant, you didn’t have it, so you had to use something else. I had just figured out my tiny, little, miniscule palladium problem. Issue. Whatever.”

_You were dying! Tony!_

“With what was, as it turns out, a variation on vibranium, and since I knew what the new element could do, we got to thinking,” Tony explained. “Vibranium. Which comes from just one place.”

“Wakanda,” Steve said.

“Got it in one. Tiny, agricultural nation? Guess you’ve heard of it,” Tony grimaced. “Anyway, so turns out, that’s kind of a giant lie, but point being, Shuri is maybe the smallest, tiniest, just a tad bit smarter than me.”

“Tony. Seriously,” Bruce said.

“So, she came up with a way to get what turned out to be the mind stone out of Vision’s head, which Wanda then kindly blew to smithereens,” Tony finished, spreading his hands wide. “Yes, there is still the time stone,” he added when Steve opened his mouth to object. “We’re working on it. But, honestly, even a mad Titan is going to think twice about going too far back in time. You might be ever so slightly familiar with unforeseeable consequences? Yeah, they’re a bitch. Point is, we have a plan. We’re preparing. Iron Legion’s up and running. Ultron is the first line of defense, sure, but we’ve got some surprises up our sleeves if and when Thanos heads this way.”

Steve could see it all falling into his place in his mind, one domino tipping over the next and then the next. He and Tony, talking it over, planning, making preparations over take-out and in bed with a pint of ice cream and a single spoon. More importantly, he could _feel_ it. The trust. The certainty. The fear. Tony by his side, worrying that he wasn’t doing enough. Steve worrying that Tony was pushing himself too hard. Late nights where neither could sleep. Other nights where they found comfort in each other. Nights when they knew they were going to win and talked about what would happen after.

“We’ve been calling this the convergence because we knew, at some point, the you from 1992 would go back again. We just didn’t know when it would happen for us,” Bruce said. “Tony got the machine from SHIELD and reassembled it here. Seems to somehow draw you to it as you go through time. We don’t really know why.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Steve asked. His head hurt, though the pain was dulling a bit. 

“Well, we don’t really know,” Bruce began.

“Bruce!” Tony snapped.

“We don’t, Tony, come on, I’m not going to lie to him,” Bruce shot back. “We think— _think_ —that eventually, you’ll forget the other memories. The serum, see? It's working overtime to try to ‘fix’,” he explained, making air quotes around the word, “the part of your brain where your memories are stored. It wants to heal you. That’s the headaches you’re feeling. And even if you do remember, it will be like—like déjà vu.”

“Oh,” Steve said dully. 

_Headaches, probably. The memories won’t work together. With your eidetic memory, it would be like having two sets for one point in time. I know it’s weird, but the serum knows what it’s doing. It would drive you crazy, not knowing which one was real, Steve. You can’t live like that._

_Besides, do you really want to remember whatever future it is that sent you on a suicide mission? I’d have never let you go. Never. Think about that._

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Tony started, choosing the words carefully. His gaze was locked on Steve, but his eyes were soft. “You don’t have to process everything tonight. Bruce is going to give you some of his sleepy-time juice. Just a small dose, but it should knock you out. If you want. It’ll help with the headaches.”

“Am I really going to forget?” Steve asked. 

“Probably,” Tony acknowledged, giving Bruce a quick look.

“I’ll just—I’ll just wait outside,” Bruce said, pushing himself up off the floor. He nodded at them, then left, the door hissing shut behind him.

“I started falling in love with you that night in ’92,” Tony said, eyes downcast as he pulled the blanket tighter around Steve. He raised his gaze, mouth going rueful. “Cannot _believe_ I acted like that. I mean, I can, but…it was how you said my name. Like—like a prayer. Like it was the best thing in the world. Just saying my name. I don’t know, I’d never—no one had ever made me feel like that. No one else ever has.”

“We’re really together?” Steve said. 

“Really,” Tony assured him with a slight smile. “Gave up my playboy bachelorhood and let you make an honest man out of me.”

“Bucky,” Steve said suddenly. “Bucky, I told you, I know, but Tony, it wasn’t him, not really. It was what they did to him, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tony said. “It’s okay. Well, not _okay_. None of that’s okay, but I know. It wasn’t him. He’s up on thirty-two. Him and Nat, and no, I don’t know how I sleep at night, but here we are.”

“Bucky’s here?” Steve said, mind blanking for a moment. 

_Your boyfriend made my arm into a candy dish._

_Your old arm, Buck. He made you a new one._

“He is,” Tony replied. 

“I—” Steve began, then broke off. There was something. Something about that. It was important. He looked up at Tony. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said. “I love you. Don’t,” Tony cut in quickly. “Not yet. It’s okay. You fell for me once. Well, twice. Possibly three times, actually. You’ll do it again.”

It was already happening, Steve wanted to say, but he just nodded. He could feel it. This burgeoning warmth and contentment when he looked at Tony. His mind called up an image of Tony asleep in a big bed of white sheets, twisted in a down comforter. His hair was askew, mouth open as he dreamed. The feeling that curled deep inside Steve was like nothing he could name, but it was everything. Perfect. Tony was _here_ , he thought, and it lingered for a while at the tip of his mind. Tony’s answering smile was gentle. Reassuring.

“You always worried that you had failed,” Tony said. “Your mission. The time travel thing. You thought you didn’t do what you needed to do to save this future of yours. Want to know what I think?”

Steve nodded. He let Tony pull him close. One of Tony’s hand brushed the hair off his brow. Another wrapped around his wrist, rubbing at the pulse point there. 

“I think that you did exactly what you needed to do. I think your mission was a total success,” Tony told him. “Thing is, no version of me would let you do something like that. Not alone. Not without me. Which means, whatever this future was, I wasn’t there. And we failed. We failed badly enough that you did something that stupid, trying to fix it. So, what I think,” Tony said, his words coming out shaky, “is that you succeeded. You didn’t need the Tesseract to fix the future. You needed us. Together. Maybe the universe knew that. Maybe there’s some cosmic power trying to get us to get our shit together, I don’t know. But, I know one thing. This—you and me—this was meant to be. I told you. I’ll find you. Across time, across space, whatever it takes, I’ll find you. And you’ll find me. I believe that with every fiber of my being. You found me, when you weren’t even supposed to be looking, _you found me_. The universe brought you to me, Steve. The future, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

“Together,” Steve said. The thought rippled over his mind like a stone skimming across a pond. 

“Always,” Tony said.

“I love you, Tony,” Steve said, watching Tony's shoulders sag with relief. A shiver ran its way up his spine. Huh.

Déjà vu, Steve thought.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are most appreciated. Comments give me life. Thank you all for reading.
> 
> Huge thank you to tastes-like-coconut for the beta!


	3. How to Date a Superhero Without Even Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from a Tumblr Anon, it's 2am and Tony drunk dials his ex. He gets Captain America instead.
> 
> Warning for attempted non-con that is most definitely interrupted.

The music was loud. Too loud. It was making his head pound. The bass thumped through the floor below him. The sound occasionally made the lamp flicker on the nightstand next to where Tony slumped by the bed. Disco lighting, Tony thought with a giddy sort of amusement that quickly went sour. He closed his eyes and swallowed back a surge of nausea. 

Gingerly, Tony lowered himself towards the floor and lay his head against the carpet. A large, unidentifiable brown stain disappeared under the bed. Tony thought it looked a bit like Australia, then wondered if it was some kind of drunk Rorschach test. He narrowed his eyes at it. Maybe it looked a little like Howard if he squinted, he thought, scrunching up his face, then letting out a stifled giggle at the thought. There were dust bunnies under the nightstand. For some unknown reason, he found that term incredibly amusing. Okay. Not an unknown reason. Vodka. Vodka was the reason. Vodka and grape Kool-aid and whatever the hell else had been in that drink Ty brought him, which Tony had almost entirely downed in a few gulps because he could and because it seemed, at the time, to be a way to impress. 

It hadn’t, of course. That had been stupid. Ty wasn’t impressed by Tony’s ability to chug party punch, so much as Tony’s mind, his brilliance, his—Tony couldn’t think of the word. Usefulness came to mind, but that didn’t feel right, so he discarded it. Of course, Ty was hard to impress, even in the best of circumstances, being a genius in his own right. Not just the way Tony was, with equations and machines, but with _all kinds_ of things, Tony thought dreamily as he stared at the back of the bedroom door where someone had hung a dart board and one of those inspirational posters where the eagle told you how to be a good person. 

Ty was truly a man of the world. He studied philosophy, literature, religion. Hell, he could quote Nietzsche, the Dalai Lama and Hunter S. Thompson interchangeably. He even spent a summer at some temple in Nepal finding his spiritual center or whatever he called it. Tony couldn’t remember. It had sounded impressively cool when Ty talked about it, though Tony couldn’t quite recall why. Something about chakras? Anyway, all Tony could manage was the occasional Monty Python reference and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lord of the Rings. That was…definitely not as cool. 

He was trying though. He read the latest Franzen after all. Well, most of it, anyway. Okay, like a couple chapters. Jesus that dude was pre-tent-ious, Tony thought, elongating the word in his head. Still, he went to all those lectures with Ty where the speakers talked about things that were Kafkaesque, whatever the fuck that was, and those poetry readings where guys with chin pubes and black turtlenecks recited line after line that all seemed to Tony to stack up to, ‘I can’t get laid, and it’s definitely not my fault.’ He visited museums and art galleries with Ty, where they stared at a black canvas and talked about how deep the artist’s message about the painful death spiral of life was. Well, Ty talked. Tony mostly nodded.

Being cultured was sometimes really boring, Tony thought privately, then snorted, wiping his sleeve across his face with a low hum he only belatedly realized was coming from himself. Not that he could ever say that to Ty. Not that he even _wanted_ to say that to Ty. Like when Ty was droning on and on about the Dresden premiere of Schumann’s Second Symphony. Nope, Tony thought with a low giggle that turned into a burp. Definitely didn’t sometimes want to just…dump something on Ty’s perfect hair and tell him to shut the hell up. 

Steve had perfect hair, too, Tony remembered with a sigh. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect everything, really. God, it had been annoying. Though, admittedly, Steve would have _explained_ what the black canvas meant, at least, Tony thought with a frown. In a way Tony could understand that didn’t make him feel like an idiot for not instantly seeing it that way. Steve would have gotten all enthusiastic about it, probably. Told Tony about how it was like one of Tony’s black holes or something. Something that made sense. Steve was good at that. He’d always liked that about Steve.

He wondered what Steve was up to these days. No. Wait. No, he didn’t. He definitely was not laying on the stained carpet of some midtown walk-up twenty something’s bedroom wondering about his ex.

Tony scrunched up his face into the carpet at the stray thought, shaking his head back and forth to use the friction to scratch his nose. Reaching up seemed like way too much effort at the moment. Why was he thinking about his ex of all people? He was at this amazing party with Ty, who was worldly and exciting and…downstairs. Somewhere. Tony frowned. 

He should go find Ty. Tell him he wanted to go. Sitting up seemed like a monumental task at the moment though, he thought, somewhat blearily. Maybe he’d just lay here a bit longer. Yes. Here was good. Here, with Australia/Howard and the dust bunnies. This was good. 

Also, he thought if he moved, he might _literally die_. So. There was that.

Something bumped out in the hallway and the door burst open, spilling in the loud, thumping rush of music and two people, locked at the lips. The guy’s hands were already under the girl’s shirt and she was reaching for the buttons of his fly before she caught sight of Tony on the floor of their intended boudoir. 

“Occupied,” Tony managed to garble out. At least, he thought that was what he said. By the looks the two interlopers gave him, he wasn’t one-hundred percent sure. His tongue seemed to want to stick to the roof of his mouth instead of forming words. “I’m here,” he tried instead, lifting his head just a bit. They stared down at him, almost like they couldn’t see him or couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from, and he had a sudden moment of complete terror where he legitimately wondered if he was really here. Thankfully, the couple seemed to notice him then, and muttered apologies before swiftly shutting the door and moving on down the hallway to door number two. 

Ah, young love, Tony grimaced. He wanted to vomit. He wasn’t sure if it was the whole sucking-face thing or the booze, but his stomach was roiling sourly in his gut. Tony closed his eyes and let out a breath of air. Just breathe, he told himself. He should try texting Ty again, he thought, though he made no move to dig into his jacket pocket for his phone. It was too loud down there for Ty to hear anyway. That must be it. He should tell Ty to turn up the volume or switch it to vibrate or something. Steve always heard his texts. Or phone calls. Or annoyed bitching at some grabby-hands at the bar even though he was halfway across the room holding them a table. Whatever. Point being, Steve would have heard the texts, and Tony wouldn’t be laying on some dingy carpet with Flopsy, Mopsy and Dusttail for company being scolded into excellence by an eagle with a dart through its tail.

Steve probably wouldn’t answer if Tony texted him now, Tony thought with a morose sigh and puff of air that made his lips vibrate against the carpet. Not after the way Tony had ended things. Steve would probably ignore it. If he hadn’t already blocked Tony’s number. It would have been easier if Steve had stormed out or yelled or acted like a normal human being, but no, of course he hadn’t. He’d just looked like a kicked puppy and told Tony it was okay, if that was what Tony wanted.

They’d dated for almost three years. Okay, well, technically, they only started dating when Tony was nineteen. He had just started grad school at MIT, but in his head, Tony liked to think that he and Steve really started out in those two minutes of heavy-duty flirtation Tony had hit Steve with during one of Howard’s boring dinner parties right before Tony put down the glass of Scotch and admitted to being sixteen. That had been a great two minutes, Tony remembered with a fond sigh. 

He should really sit up. Struggling, he managed to get a hand underneath him and make it level with the bed before his head and stomach simultaneously informed him that was the worst idea ever thought in the history of the world. Ouch. God, his head hurt. He usually handled his alcohol better, but Ty liked to drink wine and talk about tannins, so it had been a while, he supposed. Plus, he’d largely stopped drinking while he and Steve were together, though he couldn’t quite remember why. Not like Steve had ever been a teetotaler. Just, well, he hadn’t really felt the need to get plastered the way he had when he was younger. Blot things out by blacking out, he always said. Okay, not really, but that was catchy, and he totally should have said that, Tony thought with a huff of a laugh. Missed opportunity, he thought, though the words had an odd sting to them. He groaned and buried his forehead against the carpet again. He wished Ty would get his texts and come get him. He really wanted to go. Or pass out. Or throw up. Probably some combination of all three, if he were honest.

He’d only been having the Scotch that night he met Steve because he’d figured he was basically owed a drink and some fun at that point, seeing as how he was still supposed to be “recovering from his ordeal” or whatever the therapist his mom hired insisted on calling some kind of post-kidnapping anxiety, which he totally didn’t have. Sure, there had been some downsides to getting thrown in the back of a black, windowless van and zip-tied like a prize hog, but upside, he’d gotten rescued by Actual Fucking Captain America (Tony always capitalized it in his head), so it hadn’t been a total loss. 

Tony still remembered being ten years old and watching on the news with Jarvis and Ana when they announced they had found Actual Fucking Captain America in the ice. Okay, Brokaw didn’t say it like that, but he definitely meant it, you could tell. Tony’s father had helped with the expedition that found him. Credit where credit was due. Howard had managed to do a couple of good things in his life, even if parenting hadn’t been one of them. In the long run, helping create and then find Actual Fucking Captain America was probably a lot more of a legacy than anything Tony would ever leave.

God, that whole thing had been amazing, Tony remembered with a dreamy smile. Well, not the kidnapping part, which had been a huge inconvenience and largely annoying. Actual Fucking Captain America busting down the door and knocking all those goons around, swooping Tony up his arms like they were on the cover of one of those romance novels his mom swore she didn’t read. That part had been _fan-fucking-tastic,_ in Tony’s estimation. In fact, as life highlights went, that was pretty much at the top of Tony’s list. It might also have been the only thing on Tony’s list at that point, but whatever. He had not been _traumatized_ , no matter what anyone said. Getting kidnapped had at least been interesting, which was more than he could say for Howard’s stupid My Son Isn’t Dead And All I Got Was This Lousy Ransom party, so when he noticed a shoulder-to-waist ratio that looked like it was sculpted by the gods, who could blame him for trying to tap that? 

_“Care to join me? Plenty here to go around,” Tony said, leaning back against the sofa and spreading his knees apart just a bit as he held up the bottle of Scotch and blinked up at the man with what he was pretty sure was a suggestive look. He’d seen some dude in a porno do it once and practiced in a mirror until he thought he had it down pretty well. Rhodey said he looked like he was just really, really surprised about something, but he’d seen Rhodey’s attempt at a smolder, and, really, the guy had no room to talk._

_“Hmm? Oh, no, thank you—sorry. I seem to be, ah. Turned around I guess. Sorry to bother you,” the man said quickly, turning back for the door. “Wait…are you drinking?”_

_“Don’t rush out. Stay. Chat awhile. I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely,” Tony warned, biting his lip and tilting his head just so._

_“What? No—no, I—what? Sorry. I’m…” the man broke off, running a hand through his perfect blond hair. “I’m not much for conversation.”_

_“Well, how about I sit on your lap a bit and we’ll just talk about whatever pops up?” Tony suggested, letting his mouth form a small moue._

It had not gone over well.

Tony snorted out a laugh and hummed low in the back of his throat. Definitely not gone over well. Though, he had, as he insisted to Steve years later, he at least managed to get Steve’s attention. Oh, yeah, you definitely managed that, Steve would say, all grumpy and disapproving, but he would also sometimes pull Tony into his lap and they’d talk about whatever popped up, so Tony counted it as winning the long game.

Steve, unfortunately, while somewhat annoyingly overly concerned about Tony’s drinking habits, had, of course, been too nice to take advantage. It turned out that he was some kind of strategic analyst at SHIELD, which is how he knew Howard and how he ended up at Tony’s Post-Kidnapping Party that he supposed his parents threw with the money they saved by not paying the ransom the kidnappers had demanded. Good times.

Anyway, he and Steve kept meeting over the years when Steve would show up at the house or SI, until Tony finally managed to get up the nerve to ask Steve out. Okay, fine, so that had looked a lot like trying to grind on him in the backseat of a limo when Steve was doing some kind of chivalry routine by insisting on going with Tony to the airport, all because of some kind of “chatter” or whatever. Tony wasn’t sure what Steve thought he was going to do other than talk any potential terrorists to death about the rise of neo-nazism, Steve’s area of expertise, apparently, but Tony wasn’t one to walk away from an opportunity when it presented itself in the back of a limo holding a cheeseburger, milkshake and some giant art portfolio thing that Steve sometimes used to lug around whatever art piece he was working on at the time, Tony had later learned. Impractical and old-fashioned. Tony had tried to get him to upgrade to digital art, but Steve stubbornly hung on to the portfolio.

Then, Tony’s parents died, and he had been probably nanoseconds away from spiraling into a series of bad coping mechanisms when Steve found him at the reception after the funeral. Steve had clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder and said something nice. Something consoling and perfect and impossibly sincere, the way Steve could. Tony had somehow just…walked into Steve’s chest and stayed there where it was warm and safe and free of any expectation. Where someone seemed to understand what it felt like to lose everything and have everything you’d planned on taken away from you all at once.

Later, Steve would tell the story a bit differently, but to Tony, that was how Steve went from the insanely hot guy Tony randomly crushed on from time to time because it was fun and because it seemed to really piss Howard off, to Steve, the insanely hot guy who was kind and gentle, dryly funny and crazy smart, who might actually like Tony back a little bit. So, dating ensued, because Steve was stupidly old-fashioned like that and thought they should _take their time_ and _get to know each other_ and _not put hands there, Tony, come on, we talked about this_. Steve, Tony remembered with a wet, shaky breath, was sweet and funny and actually had seemed to enjoy being around Tony, when they did manage to catch more than an evening together. Hanging out on the sofa watching movies, traipsing around the city, spending hours laying in the sun at the park while Steve drew landscspes of places Tony didn’t know and sketched faces that Tony always thought looked vaguely familiar and Tony drew and erased deigns over and over in his notebook. That had been fun, Tony could admit. Maybe not exciting. But nice. 

He should really sit up, Tony thought with a long, low hiss of breath. Or drag himself downstairs. He had the sudden image of slowly slithering down the stairs, winding in between feet and twelve-packs of beer, until he reached the bottom in a puddle of Tony that Ty would finally notice. Okay, so, probably that was not a good plan. Sitting up, though…he should probably try that again. With a grunt that was more a moan, Tony managed to push himself up to a sitting position. Breathing heavily and fighting a wave of nausea, he leaned his head back against the bed and turned his head away from the lamp on the nightstand, letting his eyes fall shut. 

“Yay. Go me. Excellent sitting,” Tony mumbled to himself. Being off the floor honestly did feel like a major life accomplishment at this point. What else had he done, after all? Not much. Good grades, sure. A few well-received projects. Ty said they could maybe co-author a paper once Tony got his PhD, and Ty finished the paper he was working on at the moment. That would be fun. He’d already been helping Ty a bit with his current project, so Tony thought they might actually work well together. Could be neat. Co-authoring a paper with his…whatever Ty was. Boyfriend was such a pedestrian term. Ty didn’t like to use it. They were more than that. On a different level. Two brilliant minds, shaping the future. He wondered what their paper would be about. Something important, obviously. Something beyond anything anyone had ever seen. That was what Ty said, anyway, though he didn’t really offer a whole lot of specifics and seemed to think Tony’s ideas were “passé.”

Steve never thought Tony’s ideas were passé, Tony remembered. Steve hadn’t usually quite known what Tony was talking about, true, but he’d listened and sounded all impressed. Of course, he had, because Steve was just a regular guy. Nice. Good. _Regular_. 

Sure, after a while, that had seemed, well…boring. Staid. Straight-laced. Tony was moving on to his PhD, getting deeper and deeper into the world of elite scientists and engineers at the cutting edge of AI, and Steve was, well…just sort of there. He’d listen to Tony talk, ask questions at the right times, sound encouraging and amazed, do all of that good boyfriend stuff, but he didn’t really _understand_ Tony, not the way people like Ty did. Tony was moving beyond him. He should have been able to see that long before anyone pointed out what was right in front of his face. Tony was creating the future, and Steve was stuck where he was. 

Hell, some days, it seemed like Steve was stuck in some bygone era, almost overwhelmed by everything around him to the point of inertia. Especially after Aunt Peggy’s death. The fact that Tony’s Godmother liked his boyfriend almost as much as she did him still mystified Tony, but it had been good for her in those last years when she got confused so easily. Sometimes, she imagined Steve was someone she knew from back in the war, and to his credit, he had just rolled with it. But, those hard days got harder and more frequent as time went on, and the inevitable cracks in their relationship had started to form, Tony supposed. 

Not that Tony had _minded_ those hard days, exactly, even if he hadn’t understood them. Sometimes, Steve had just needed to chill out, everyone did, right? And it just so happened that often meant hanging with Tony, which that part had been nice, Tony could admit. Stupidly nice. Really, really stupidly nice, Tony thought with a sigh. Ty never wanted to just hang out. They always had to be doing something. Creating, inventing, talking about how they were going to remake the world, talking about how great their ideas were. Well, mainly Ty’s ideas, since Tony didn’t really have anything all that great yet, though Ty was helping. At least Ty understood what Tony was talking about. That was something. Even if he didn’t ask questions or ever sound amazed.

Tony didn’t know why he was thinking about Steve so much all of a sudden. Must be the alcohol. Steve was a part of Tony’s past, true enough. An important part. But, it was a past that Tony was trying very hard to move away from. Steve was the only person Tony had ever really dated, after all, and as he moved into grad school, he’d realized that he needed something new. Something different. It had been nice. While it lasted. Of course, it was never going to last forever. Tony knew that. Eventually, Steve would have decided to leave. Tony could feel him pulling away those last few months when he and Sam kept having to go off on work trips. 

Besides, Tony craved excitement. Adventure. A little danger, maybe. Just to live a little. That’s what people his age wanted, right? Not settling down and playing house, as nice as that had been for a time. He was young and rich and full of ideas that were going to change the world. It was heady and exciting and Steve…Steve just wasn’t that person. Steve was…just _Steve_. Plain vanilla Steve Rogers. Perfectly good, nothing wrong with that, very dependable and all. Steve was the kind of guy who would kick your tires to see if they had enough air and check for slippery patches of ice on the walkway before you left for class so he could melt them down and warm up your coffee cup with hot water so it kept the coffee hot. Conscientious. Helpful. Thoughtful. But, not what Tony Stark wanted. Needed. 

Nope. Not at all. 

Tony Stark, heir to Stark Industries and up-and-coming futurist, about to set the world on fire, did not need some regular guy holding him back. He was pretty sure he’d thought that. Said that? Or maybe Ty had been the one to point it out, he couldn’t remember. And like Obie had said, Tony had this whole future ahead of him. The responsibility of a company worth hundreds of billions of dollars. Thousands of jobs, the lives of untold numbers of servicemen and women, and all of it was going to fall on Tony’s shoulders as soon as he graduated, so why not sow some proverbial oats while he had the chance? Wasn’t like he needed to settle down right this second. 

Tony needed to spread his wings. Get out in the world. Practically everyone said so. This thing with Steve, it was too much. Too serious, too soon. He was way too young to settle down. He needed to live a little first. Everyone did, right? That was what you were supposed to be doing at this age, not hanging out in your apartment watching old movies and drinking hot cocoa with real milk and chocolate because _someone_ was a cocoa snob. So, that’s what he’d been doing, and it was great. Living it up. Sowing those oats. Getting out there and rubbing shoulders with people who were his intellectual peers, like Ty. Everything was great. It was tons of fun. Parties, booze, bad decisions, and no strings attached sex with one of the most brilliant people he’d ever met. He was on top of the world. 

God, he missed Steve. 

No, wait. That wasn’t…he hadn’t meant to think that. It was the alcohol, Tony thought, glancing down somewhat dubiously at the red solo cup still perched precariously on the edge of the nightstand where he’d left it. Some kind of punch, Ty had said. He wasn’t sure. Ty said it was good. It had tasted like cough syrup to Tony and left a funny, bitter taste in the back of his now-dry throat, like he had sucked on a particularly vile piece of cotton, but God only knew what passed for a mixer at a place like this.

Why was he thinking so much about Steve? He swiped a hand over his face. God, he was pathetic. Laying on the floor, reminiscing about his ex while trying not to hurl. He needed to stop. Sure, he was frustrated, tired and extraordinarily drunk, and yeah, the booze and other stuff could really expand his mind sometimes, like Ty said, but the whole trip down memory lane thing had to stop. He wasn’t usually such a maudlin drunk. 

The thought that none of this was actually any fun flitted through his head, but he discarded it. Of course, it was fun. This was what college was all about, right? This is what he had been missing out on. This is what he wanted. This was what he had been missing out on those two years with Steve. This was why he broke it off. Tony sniffed, a loose, wet, choking sound, and wiped his hand over his face. He could still remember Steve’s face when Tony tried to explain. Steve had looked like someone had gut-punched him. Though, to Steve’s credit, he’d accepted Tony’s decision about as well as someone in his position could. 

_I just want you to be happy, Tony._

And just look at me now, Tony thought, with a derisive snort. So happy. Yep. Happy, happy, happy. On the floor of some random asshat’s hetero-cave barely able to move. Fun times. Really living it up, here, Tony. Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked down at the time. Nearly 2 a.m.. The music was still echoing through the floor, so no one had called last round yet, Tony thought with a dispirited sigh. He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. It was one of those popcorn ceilings, and dear God, there was another fucking inspirational poster taped up there. Clearly, whoever occupied this room was either going to turn out to be a televangelist, mass gunman or member of Congress. Toss-up.

2 a.m., shit. He wanted to go home and be miserable in his own bed. Barfing in your own toilet was so much better than someone else’s, he found. Really homey. He wondered when Ty would be ready to go. Hopefully soon. He should text him again. Maybe if Tony offered to blow him when they got back to Ty’s place, he would be willing to leave his cadre of admirers currently fawning over him downstairs. 

Tony bit his lip and swiped a hand across his brow. His stomach roiled, but thankfully, he hadn’t eaten dinner. Or lunch. Or…well. Ty said they’d grab something on the way over, but then Ty had been busy. He was close on one of his projects. Tony got that. That was the thing. Him and Ty, they _got_ each other. Like, really _understood_ each other. That was what was so great about the two of them together. They just had so much in common. Heck, they barely even needed to talk to each other most of the time. Things could just…go unspoken, and that was cool. Great. Not having to talk so much, just _knowing_ what the other one needed, just having that innate understanding, that—that made everything so much easier.

Like tonight. The MacArthur Fellowship. The so-called Genius Grant. Obviously, that was a big deal. Huge. Ty was excited and thrilled, of course he was. Tony was excited for him. Nothing got Ty going more than beating out the competition, and, hey, he wanted to celebrate his success. Deservedly so, of course. Tony got that. He was happy to oblige, really. Sure, it hadn’t exactly been awesome, Tony thought with a small wince as he shifted on the floor, but it had been Ty’s accomplishment, after all, so _of course_ , it was about making him feel good. That made sense. And Ty was—he was intense like that sometimes. He just got a bit over-enthusiastic.

Couldn’t really complain about the guy you were with being really into you, right? That would be a stupid thing to complain about, Tony told himself, staring up at the inspirational poster above the bed that helpfully told him the river always beat the rock because of perseverance. It’s hydraulic action, Tony mentally corrected, then grimaced as he shifted again. It was nice to be wanted with a crazy kind of desperation. Wasn’t it? Ty was a passionate guy, and that—that was a good thing, Tony reminded himself with what he meant to be a firm nod that turned into more of a head bobble. It was good to be wanted. Sometimes, those last few months, Steve had been gone so much with work, it—well. The point was, having the guy you liked want you so badly he couldn’t contain himself, that was a good thing. Relationship goals, right? 

Right.

Not that Steve hadn’t been passionate. They’d never seemed to quite make it out of the can’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other stage, and Steve, Mr. GNC—eat your Wheaties—I Want to Pump //clap// You Up, was entertainingly strong. That came in handy at times, and not just in a ‘he can open literally any jar’ kind of way, Tony thought to himself. Though, the jar thing had been cool, too. Anyway, point being, Steve had always been stupidly into Tony, though adorably inexperienced at first. He’d just--maybe because of his size or whatever, Tony wasn’t sure—but, Steve had always been…oddly tender, Tony remembered. Even when he was pushing Tony up against the wall like he weighed nothing. He’d been careful, Tony could tell. Caring. Like the last thing in the world he ever wanted to do was hurt Tony in some way. It felt silly to think of it—the sex--like that, even now, except Tony was absolutely certain he was right about it. Maybe it was something only apparent to Tony, he wondered, because he knew well enough what the opposite felt like. 

Not that Ty wasn’t careful, just that, well, he didn’t really have the same issue as Steve, despite what he seemed to think, Tony thought with a huffing snort of laughter. Besides, Ty had been sorry he’d gotten carried away again and promised to make it up to Tony later. Tony knew how sweet Ty could be when he put his mind to it. Like the thing with Tony’s birthday. Sure, it hadn’t actually been Tony’s birthday that particular day, but it was the thought that counted, right? Okay, sometimes, Ty got busy and forgot things, but that was totally understandable with everything he was doing. Ty was super busy. Busier even than Tony. And under so much pressure all the time, Tony told himself. Tony definitely knew how that felt. It could drown out everything else. So, sure, Tony could remind Ty, of course, but he didn’t want to sound too needy. Ty _hated_ needy. Said it was weak. And he was right. Tony Stark didn’t need anyone. 

Yeah. Right. Because he was doing just great on his own, Tony thought, frowning as he looked around the room again and mentally urged Ty to hurry up. Okay, tonight notwithstanding, he was doing okay, he told himself. Classes were going well. When he managed to make it to them. Not that he really needed to go, as Ty pointed out. He was well beyond the material. He kind of missed it, though. And a few of his professors had started to notice, but Ty said they were just blowing smoke because they’d get in trouble with the administration if they didn’t at least put up some fuss. Not like anyone was really going to make a big stink about it, since he could pass his exams without actually going, no problem. 

Still, they had actually sounded a bit concerned, so maybe next week, Tony would try to make it to a few classes. At least put in a showing. Tell Ty he was just getting them off his back or something, though he actually wanted to talk to Ruger about his latest article in the International Journal of Robotics Research. Tony hadn’t quite thought it as pedestrian as Ty had. There were some interesting ideas there, though it wasn’t worth arguing with Ty over. Still, he’d like to chat with Ruger a bit, maybe run some ideas by him before he mentioned them to Ty. 

His stomach flip-flopped again. The thumping in his head seemed to be keeping time with the music below. 

“Ugh,” Tony groaned and pulled out his phone again, staring accusingly down at it. Finally, he sent another message to Ty. Ready when you are. That was…not needy, Tony thought. Hoped. It didn’t _sound_ too needy. 

God, he needed to get out of here.

His stomach churned and growled. Loudly. Okay, so maybe he was a little hungry. That much alcohol on an empty stomach had probably not been his best life decision. Ty had said he could eat here, but the chips and whatever had been poured into the bowls downstairs had been long gone by the time they got here. Point being, while an empty stomach was a blessing at the moment, some food might actually help, he decided, scrolling through the photos on his phone from last night out of sheer boredom. 

Ty, Ty, Ty and Justin, Ty and Justin and some other people from the grad program, a blurry pocket photo, a selfie of Tony with Ty in the background talking animatedly to a guy in a Boston U jacket who Tony didn’t know. Ty’s head bent low and close, Tony noticed with a slight pang. They weren’t exclusive, of course. Him and Ty. Tony knew that. He didn’t even _want_ that. This was way better. No frills, no attachments, just a mature relationship between two adults who weren’t looking to be tied down. Freedom, really, that’s what it was. 

Yep, Tony thought, looking around the empty bedroom. This is what freedom feels like. Ain’t life grand? Tony thought sullenly. 

Fine, so this whole night sucked, and he was miserable. There. He admitted it. It almost felt better just acknowledging it. He was drunk and maybe nauseous and hungry at the same time, if that was possible. He wanted to go home, but even if he could get Ty’s attention, no way was Ty going to stay with him and hold his hair and rub his back or something. Not that he needed that or anything. He wasn’t a kid anymore, wanting Jarvis to comfort him, for fuck’s sake. He could handle himself. The phone, still cradled in his hand, with its blank screen and no unread messages seemed poised to call him on his bluff. He reached up and plucked the solo cup off the edge of the nightstand, peering down into it where a foggy swirl of grape-flavored mystery drink clung to the bottom. That…did not look the least bit appetizing, he thought, face pulling an expression of intense disgust. 

He should get an cab or something, he told himself firmly. Or call Rhodey. Rhodey would come get him, he thought, tapping at the phone screen and scrolling through his contacts until Rhodey’s name appeared. Except he tapped too hard, and his cup tipped, which he clutched tighter, overcompensating and spilling a little on the carpet, making him jump out of the way and spill the rest of the cup’s contents, this time all over his pants and…great. Just fucking wonderful, Tony thought with a sigh as he set the now-empty cup back up on the nightstand. He shook his hands, sending little droplets of punch across the room, then wiped them on his pants, which were goners anyway. Fan-fucking-tastic. His hands were a sticky mess, his pants were a sticky mess, he was about to hurl and none of those were even for a good cause.

The phone rang once, then twice, and, _fuck._ It was 2 a.m., Tony remembered, thumbing for the end button with punch-covered fingers. Rhodey was asleep, of course he was, and why the hell wasn’t he just getting a taxi? He pulled the phone into his lap so he could see what he was doing, pressing his slick, sticky thumb to the red button for all it was worth, then noticed that the contact at the top wasn’t even Rhodey’s phone.

Oh, God.

_Oh, fucking God, you have got to be shitting me with this! Come on, universe, we had a deal!_

It was worse. Way, way worse. Tony stared in paralyzed horror for a moment. He must’ve scrolled right past Rhodey’s name and into the S’s by mistake, though at least it was Steve’s work number, _thank fuck_ , and not his actual personal line. Sure, Tony wasn’t even supposed to have it, and he’d only gotten it by swiping Nat’s phone one day, since Steve insisted that Tony could always reach him on his cell, and technically, that had pretty much always been true, but Tony 1) didn’t like to be told no; and 2) didn’t like the idea that Steve’s fellow analysts like Nat and Clint got his super-secret, specially encrypted work number and Tony didn’t. What kind of boyfriend didn’t share his work number? It had rankled. And, also, that encryption had been fun for like thirty minutes one day in between Star Trek episodes. God bless the government for picking the lowest bidder, Tony recalled, shaking his head in mock sadness.

Point being, at least he’d drunk-dialed his ex’s work number at 2 a.m. and not actually called Steve, who would probably do something obnoxiously dumb like…answer. And then be understanding and helpful, the way he always had been, and maybe insist on coming to get Tony and taking him home, tucking him in bed and maybe staying for a while because he was concerned and wanted to make sure Tony was okay. That would have obviously been terrible, Tony snorted, blinking as his eyes started to sting. Damnit Flopsy, this is all your fucking fault, Tony thought, giving a stern glare to the dark space under the nightstand. 

He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling again. Perseverance. You can do it. You’re having the time of your life, he told himself. This is what you wanted. No take-backs, he thought as he swiped his hand on his shirt to clear the last of the punch as best he could and reached for the end call button, thumb hovering for just a moment. The fifth ring cut off mid-ring. Tony’s stomach dropped to probably the house’s basement, then bobbed back up to his throat. 

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccckkkkkkkk._

“You’re on a secure line. This is Captain America. What’s the situation?” Steve’s voice sounded from the phone’s speaker. 

Tony slow-blinked, lowered the phone, and stared down at the screen that said Steve Work at the top. He looked over at the now-empty red solo cup with wide eyes, then back down at the phone. Maybe he was having some sort of auditory hallucination. Maybe he was passed out by the side of the bed. Maybe he’d already gone home and was having a very realistic dream. He could almost remember actually having a dream kind of like that a few times.

“Who is this?” Steve demanded. His voice sounded different than Tony remembered. Firmer. More in command. But, it was definitely Steve. “How did you get this number?”

“Uh…Steve? It’s Tony,” Tony managed, bringing the phone back to his ear. “Tony Stark. Your Tony. I mean, not—look, the point is. The point—I have a point, hang on. Oh, right. I’m possibly–er, probably? Yes. Probably very drunk. Very, _very_ drunk. But, is your job pretending to be Captain America?” Tony asked, frowning down at the phone in his hand. Wow. Talking while drunk was a lot harder than thinking while drunk. Or, at least, it currently seemed to be. “Because that is way more interesting than strater–strateger–being an analysis. Anal-yst. Ha. That’s—I just got that,” Tony added with a laugh. “Has that always been funny? That’s really funny. Anyway, can you come get me? I’m hungry.” There, Tony thought triumphantly. He had communicated the exact information he needed to in a concise and coherent manner. He was so good at this adulting thing.

“Tony?” Steve said, sounding shocked. Of course, he was probably shocked to find out he was Captain America. Tony giggled. He thought he might be tripping on something, though he didn’t remember taking anything. Would he remember, though? Eh. Seemed like too much effort to think about. “Tony? Are you alright? Answer me, Tony!”

Oh. He sounded worried. Tony figured he should say something.

“How are you Captain America for work?” Tony asked.

“Tony, where are you?” Steve asked. His voice sounded like he was trying very, very hard to stay calm. “Nevermind. I’ll track your phone.”

“Track my—you can do that?” Tony said, pulling the phone away from his ear and staring down at it. “No, you can’t.”

“Stay where you are,” Steve ordered. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Fifteen tops.”

“How can you track my phone? You don’t know where I am. I don’t know where I am. Can we get milkshakes? I need to throw up,” Tony said. “You can’t track my phone. That’s like the movies or something. I told you. It doesn’t work like that. Because of the…there’s like…cell towers and shit. Tri—tri—angle. Triangle action. Something. That sounds dirty. I want to go home, but he doesn’t hear my text, and it’s fucking annoying, is what it is, but I’m at a house. There’s like, two really obnoxious posters. Oh, God.” He frowned and rubbed at the side of his head with his fist. 

“What is it? Tony?” Steve demanded.

“There’s three. I missed the one over the desk. Fuck, I think it’s about teamwork. I hate it here,” Tony groaned, letting his head loll to the side. “I don’t know where here is. Ty drove.”

“I’ll find you, Tony. I’m on my way. Just stay put, okay?” Steve urged. 

He sounded upset. His voice got all tight and low when he got worried, and then he just started giving orders. Ty didn’t really worry about him too much, which made sense because Ty knew Tony could handle himself. But, Steve worried, and okay, so maybe at the moment that was actually kind of nice. To be worried about. Made his chest feel all warm and his head a bit light. Steve was worried, his mind hummed pleasantly. 

Tony privately thought giving orders made Steve feel better when he worried, like that time when Tony was almost involved in that crazy stuff down on that freeway in D.C. with that crazy terrorist dude shooting at cars and taking out a city bus. That had been cool. Okay, not—destruction of property was not cool, but Actual Fucking Captain America showed up, and _that_ had been all kinds of awesome. It had been _amazing_. Actual Fucking Captain America going toe-to-toe with this masked, metal-armed terrorist guy in the middle of the highway. Tony had nearly lost his shit in the middle of the student union while everyone gathered around the TV, Snapples temporarily forgotten. 

Steve had been away at some conference with Sam at the time, though Tony had been able to get through to him eventually. He must have seen the show on TV because he got all testy about the whole thing, truth be told. Don’t go to the apartment, Tony. Stay off the roads, Tony. Wait for Clint, Tony. Lots of orders, that day. Orders, orders, orders, Tony thought with a fond sigh. Steve did like his orders. Sometimes, that could be a boon for Tony, admittedly, but that had not been one of those times, which sucked because watching the whole thing go down on TV had been, um, stimulating, Tony recalled. Still, Tony had obligingly followed Steve’s very strident suggestions, at least that time, if only because Steve did truly sound panicked. Tony had complained about it a lot after Steve finally got back from his conference, though. Two weeks at Clint’s farm? No one deserved that.

“I wasn’t sure if I was really here earlier,” Tony told him. It seemed important, though he wasn’t sure why. “But, I am,” he sighed. “I’m here. I don’t know where here is. How do you know where here is?”

“There’s a tracker in your phone,” Steve said.

“No!” Tony gasped and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Where? How?”

“Tony, please don’t take the phone apa—” Steve’s voice cut off as Tony pounded the phone onto the edge of the nightstand to crack open the back so he could see inside. 

“Hey, there’s a tracker in my phone!” Tony said brightly, holding up the tiny piece of tech that he’d pulled out of the insides of the phone. “Where’d you get this? Steve? Steve?” Tony repeated blankly, then looked down at the pieces of his phone. “Oh. Whoops.”

Tony leaned his head back against the edge of the mattress again and closed his eyes with a groan. His head was pounding again, and his stomach made a rebellious noise of what Tony considered to be warning. He wanted to go home. He should get a cab. Or find the bus stop. Did city buses run this late? Early. Whatever. Or text Ty again, he thought, lifting his head and holding up his phone. Or…not. Right. Phone is a no-go. Maybe Actual Fucking Captain America would come rescue him again, Tony thought with a giggle. 

Not Actual Fucking Captain America, but Steve was coming, Tony reminded himself. Steve, who would see him like this and look all disappointed and upset about it. Fuck. He didn’t want Steve to see him like this. Steve was supposed to think Tony was off having a great life with amazing, brilliant people who _got_ him. Who understood. Tony’s kind of people. 

Tony looked around the room. It was theoretically possible that his kind of people were basically total dicks.

He wiped a hand over his face and tossed the useless phone aside with a frown. Slithering down the stairs seemed like the better part of valor at the moment. It might be that or he hurled mystery punch all over Hunter or Declan or Grayson or Whoever’s carpet. God, this sucked. He just wanted to get out of here, go home, barf, and sleep it off in peace like a normal 21-year-old multiple PhD candidate, but now his ex was rushing to rescue him from his awesome life and then Steve would know what everyone else knew. That Tony Stark was a big, giant loser who no one wanted to be around unless he was useful.

Well. No one except Steve, who just looked crushed and devastated and told Tony he wanted him to be happy. 

Tony’s eyes burned. He wiped his sleeve over them and sucked in a breath. A wave of misery and self-loathing hit him and he blinked against the sting of it, then closed his eyes with a sigh. What the hell was he doing? Ty said something about them, how they were destined for greatness, how they complimented each other, how they pushed each other, made each other better, but it was all bullshit. What was so great about huddling on the floor hoping your not-boyfriend would notice you were missing and care enough to come look for you? 

Steve would have noticed, Tony thought, giving the carpet a bitter, vicious kick that did nothing but leave a darker stripe where his foot had skidded through the fibers. Steve always noticed. Even those last few months, when he’d been all distracted with work and gone so much, Steve would have fucking noticed. He didn’t want Steve to notice that he was falling apart. Fuck. God. Steve was going to notice. Steve was going to _know_. 

The sound of the bedroom door opening made Tony jump, then he sagged against the bed with relief as Ty walked in, followed by a guy Tony didn’t know and a guy Tony recognized as the Boston U-wearing douche from the club a couple of nights ago. Fucking finally, Tony thought with a grimace, though he didn’t say it out loud. 

“There you are,” Ty said, walking over to stand in front of Tony. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been texting you forever,” Tony retorted, then winced and rubbed at his temples. The little man who apparently lived inside his head seemed to want to pound a railroad spike into his skull with each word. 

“Sorry, love, didn’t hear them,” Ty said smoothly. “This is Dan and Preston,” he added, nodding his head towards the two men who had followed him in. “I was telling them about you. They wanted to meet you.”

“Oh. Hi,” Tony said. He gave them a little one-handed wave. Preston—God, what a fucking asshole name—seemed amused. Dan kept looking back and forth between Ty and the door until Preston closed it. “Can we go? I’m—” drunk, he wanted to say, but Ty hated it when Tony got all wasted. “I don’t feel so good. I think maybe ‘cause I didn’t eat or something. I’m just…I’m tired.”

“Sure, yeah, we can go soon,” Ty agreed. “It’s just, well…” he trailed off, biting his lip and raising his eyebrows. It was a practiced move. Literally. Tony had seen him practicing various looks in front of the mirror one morning when he’d come back to get the Nanorobotics paper he’d left at Ty’s apartment. Tony wanted to roll his eyes, but he was too dizzy to try. “See, I told the guys here all about you, how much you like to party, you know, and I thought maybe it might be fun if we all hung out for a bit. Just the four of us. None of that craziness downstairs. Bunch of losers, am I right? No wonder you wanted to duck out. What do you think? You’d like that, right? Just us?”

“I want to go home,” Tony sighed, dropping his head to the side. “Please, Ty. Can we just go?”

“Sure, sure, we will, we will,” Ty said soothingly. He sat down on the bed next to where Tony was sitting on the floor, then shifted Tony forward and scooted over until he could lean Tony back between his legs. It was nice, Tony could admit. Ty was stroking his hair, which Ty knew he liked, and he could rest his head against Ty’s knee. This was good. Nice. He might actually not hurl if he stayed exactly like this. Maybe Ty knew what he was doing. They could hang here a bit, then when Tony felt up to it, they could go. 

“Sorry,” Tony murmured to Preston Carrington Taylor Howell III and…Dan. He was just…really, really tired. “Not good company r’now.”

“I think your company’s just about right. Don’t you, Ty?” Preston said with a slight smirk, mouth pursing like he was considering something. 

Tony blinked up at him, then closed his eyes again. He felt like he should think something about all of this, but he just…didn’t. It was too much effort all of a sudden. He’d come up here because the music was too loud. It was making his head hurt, and his stomach wasn’t happy with him on top of that, and then the carpet and something about Australia and…it was all just kind of fuzzy now, though that didn’t seem especially concerning. Nothing seemed especially concerning, in fact. There had been something he was concerned about earlier, but it didn’t make any sense when he tried to think about it again. He frowned. There was something he should say. Something he should tell Ty, but he couldn’t—it didn’t make sense. 

“Captain America is coming,” Tony managed. No. Wait. That wasn’t right. Something—the thought was gone before he could even begin to chase it. 

“I’d say just about,” Ty huffed with a low laugh, still stroking Tony’s hair. It was nice. Everything was nice, Tony decided. His head was hazy, but the pounding was dissipating. A frisson of something cold snaked up Tony’s back, but then it, too, was whisked away, and his mind was floating. Nothing hurt. Nothing bothered him. Nothing mattered. “What do you think, Tony? I was telling Dan and Preston how good you are, but they didn’t believe me. Shocking, I know. You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Tony?”

“M’gd,” Tony mumbled. His eyelids drooped and his head dipped down to his chest. God, he was just so sleepy. 

“See?” Ty said, raising his head up to the other two men. 

“I don’t know, Ty. He seems pretty out of it,” Dan said, a wary, troubled tone lacing his voice. Out of what? Tony didn’t know. He smiled. That was funny. Dan was funny. He wanted to go home. 

“No one’s making you be here,” Ty said curtly. Dan looked towards the door again. No, hey, don’t go, Tony thought. 

“S’ry,” Tony slurred. “I’m fine. Good. You should stay.”

“See? He’s fine, I told you,” Ty said brightly. He sounded happy. Pleased. That was good. Tony was doing good. Maybe they could go home soon. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry about earlier, okay? And then leaving you all alone tonight? Not cool of me, I know. I was all focused on myself and celebrating. I didn’t mean to leave you out.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said. He leaned his head back between Ty’s legs and looked up at him, a wave of dizziness hitting him as he did.

“So, I thought, I should make it up to you. I owe you, right?” Ty continued. “Shouldn’t be all about me. You should get to have some fun tonight, too, right?”

“Yeah. I—I guess,” Tony sighed. 

“I thought you might like to show our new friends a good time,” Ty suggested. “I know how much you love that. They’d really like that. I’d like that, too. What do you say? A little private celebration? Just us. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ty said, running his hand down Tony’s cheek and cupping his chin, tilting Tony’s head up to look at him. “You’d like to do that for me, wouldn’t you, Tony?”

Tony stared up at him. His head was…blank. White. Nothing was there. He knew what Ty was asking, and he supposed there should be some reaction to it. Interest, excitement, disgust, anger, but nothing was there except the thought that he wanted to go home that kept scrolling across his mind like the banner on the bottom of the television news and the memory of being tied to a chair, blindfolded, his lip split and his mouth filled with blood, and Captain America being there all of a sudden and how it hadn’t been awesome, he’d been terrified out of his mind, so scared he couldn’t stop shaking, and how Captain America clapped him on the shoulder and told him he was very brave, and how he had believed it for that one bright, shining moment. 

“I want to go home. Please, Ty, I—” Tony broke off as Ty’s grip on his chin turned bruising. Ty leaned down close, so close that Tony could smell the alcohol on his breath, sending a danger signal blaring in the recesses of Tony’s mind. 

“If you embarrass me, we are _done_ , do you understand?” Ty hissed into his ear, his fingers tightening on Tony’s chin. “It’s just a couple of blow jobs, Tony. Don’t be a fucking prude.” Tony stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. Ty let go of his chin, leaned back up and patted Tony’s shoulder with one hand. Tony looked down at the floor, blinking back against the burning behind his eyes. Ty rubbed at his shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “We’ll go home as soon we’re done celebrating, okay? Deal?” Ty said. Tony nodded, something sick twisting in his gut. His eyes stung. He could feel hot tears running down his cheeks. He just wanted to go home.

“Pres, come on,” Ty said, motioning the other man forward. “You’re gonna love it,” Ty said in a placating tone, patting Tony’s shoulders and pushing his hair back from his forehead. Tony wasn’t sure who Ty was talking to. He wasn’t sure it mattered. 

“About fucking time, man,” Preston said, stepping forward and reaching for the buckle of his belt. “Jesus, look at those lips, will you?”

Tony swallowed, or tried to. He could do this. It would be okay. Not like he hadn’t done it plenty. It was fine. Everything was fine. He had a moment to wonder that he couldn’t seem to muster any emotion to go with the words. There should be something there. Excitement, fear, anger, disgust, arousal, _something_. But, there was nothing there, just the dull throb of the thought that he wanted to go home in the back of his mind, distant and fading. Preston had his button open and his hand on his zipper. Calvins. Of course. Tony licked his lips. Breathe through your nose, he thought. It’ll be okay. Ty was right. It wasn’t a big deal. Not like he hadn’t done it tons of times before. It’ll be over soon. Then he could go home. Ty promised. 

That was when the door imploded.

Imploded might not technically be correct, Tony had time to think somewhat blearily, but it seemed to fit pretty well. The door slammed open and rebounded off the wall behind it, sending the dartboard careening to the ground and leaving it hanging limply by one hinge at the top. The whole room seemed to jump at the same time. Dan plastered himself against the wall, arms flailing, nearly knocking over the lamp. Preston jerked away and grabbed at the buckle of his pants with a bitten-off curse. Ty’s whole body startled, one knee knocking into the side of Tony’s head. Tony reached up to rub at his temple and shot Ty what he hoped was an annoyed look.

“Oh. Right. Steve’s here,” Tony said into the moment of silence that followed, raising his hand and vaguely pointing in the general direction of the man standing in the doorway. He gave Ty a wide, flat smile, proud of himself for finally remembering what he had wanted to tell Ty, not that Ty was paying him any mind at the moment.

“Hey man, this is kind of a private party, so…” Preston said. 

“Tony,” Steve said. His voice sounded funny. All tight and angry. Crap. He was worried. He was probably going to start ordering people around, Tony thought with a long, drawn-out sigh. He blew a puff of air, intending to get the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes out of the way, but it didn’t work, so he determinedly did it again. Then again. “Tony, are you okay?” Steve asked, gentler this time.

“M’good. Fine,” Tony said. Then he looked at Steve and he wasn’t good anymore. He wasn’t good at all. Everything was wretched and awful, but Steve was here, so it was somehow simultaneously worse and better. He didn’t want Steve to be here. To see him like this. This was bad. He was bad, and now Steve was going to know how much everything sucked, and that was somehow even worse than everything sucking. But, Steve was here, he came when Tony called, and that was impossibly good, too. The best, most wonderful thing in the world. It was all just too much, so Tony ducked his head and closed his burning eyes. “I want to go home,” he said finally in a wet, choking voice.

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just—” Preston started.

Whatever it was that Steve couldn’t just do—which, if he’d been in a mood to do so, Tony could’ve told Preston was really not a good approach with Steve-- but anyway, whatever it was ended up lost forever, probably somewhere with Preston’s dignity, Tony assumed, since Steve just grabbed the poor man by the shirtfront and tossed him out the open door behind him with a flick of his wrist. Preston hit the far wall hard enough to make a deep, round indentation in the drywall and splinter the wood behind it. He sort of just slowly slid down the wall to the carpet below with a wide-eyed stare and his mouth forming an ‘O’ of surprise as he titled over and slumped to the side.

“What the fuck!?!” Ty shouted. He started to get up, jostling Tony to the side as he tried to untangle his legs. Tony gave one knee a hard shove, and tried to scoot out of the way, but it was like his limbs were buffering or something. They wouldn’t quite cooperate with what his brain wanted to do, at least not as quickly or as smoothly as Tony thought they should, and Ty’s legs were in the way, making it that much harder.

And then they just…weren’t. That was easier, Tony thought, half-dragging himself towards the nightstand. There was a loud, crunching sound, and Tony looked up in time to see Ty bounce off the ceiling and drop face-first at Steve’s feet onto the floor by the bed. Chunks of drywall and a spray of fine, white dust followed. Above the bed, the inspirational poster rippled as it hung by one corner from the ceiling next to a large, person-sized hole. Ty groaned and got one arm under himself like he was going to try to get up, then looked over at Tony out of the corner of his eye. His hair was covered in white powder and a piece of the ceiling was plastered to his forehead. Another wedge fell and landed at the top of his back. Ty let out a shuddering breath, then his eye rolled up in his head, and he went limp with a huff.

Steve turned and looked at Dan, who was currently trying to slink out the door, Tony noticed. Dan held up his hands in front of him, eyes wide and panicked.

“I don’t even like these guys,” Dan said, giving Steve a pleading look.

“Get. Out,” Steve ground out after a moment. Dan, not being a total idiot, immediately fled.

Tony looked out the door at where Preston’s legs were still visible in the hallway, then over at Ty, then up at Steve. “How’d you do that?” Tony asked, blinking in confusion. He tried to stretch out and nudge Ty’s leg with one hand, but the movement caused his stomach to roil in protest again. “Can we go? I don’t want to throw up on Australia.”

That made perfect sense in Tony’s head, but somehow, when he said the words, they didn’t sound quite right. He looked up beseechingly at Steve, who dropped down to one knee next to him and cupped Tony’s face in his hands, staring into his eyes with a searching look.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked again. His hands moved over Tony’s face and head, then down his arms and sides, like he was checking for injuries. Maybe he was, Tony didn’t know.

“Just want to go,” Tony said. He reached for Steve and slumped forward, letting his head fall against Steve’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please. Just—I just want to go home.”

“Then we’ll go,” Steve replied.

Tony hadn’t quite realized until that moment how badly he just wanted things to be that simple. He sagged against Steve’s shoulder in relief and let out a broken sob before he caught himself and sucked the rest of it back in. Tony started to pull back, only to find himself scooped up in Steve’s arms and lifted up, bridal-style, in one smooth movement.

“Oh—oof,” Tony startled, then glanced down as Steve nimbly side-stepped Ty’s prone form and Preston, who was starting to moan and rub at the back of his head in the hallway. Tony buried his cheek against Steve’s chest and sighed. This was nice.

“Move,” Steve said, and the throng of people who were hovering at the top of the stairs, probably trying to figure out what all the commotion had been, parted like the Red Sea. Tony harrumphed a bit at the sight. No slithering down the stairs, after all, he thought as Steve maneuvered them down. The music was still loud and thumping all the way to the back of his brain, but it wasn’t quite as bothersome, not with his ear pressed against the curve of Steve’s arm.

Steve carried him out of the house and towards the small lawn where a black SUV was parked half-jumped over the curb.

“Hey, your car talked to me like fucking KIT or something, dude,” some guy in a MIT hoodie said as they passed.

Steve didn’t slow down, just stalked towards the car with Tony in his arms. He opened the passenger door and carefully set Tony down inside, leaning the seat back a bit and buckling Tony in. Tony’s head lolled to the side and he looked up at Steve, then quickly let his gaze fall back down to his lap. Steve looked pissed. He had that sharp, tight-jawed look he got when he was truly angry about something. A well of hot shame emptied into Tony’s chest and stomach. He had screwed up. He had screwed up, and Steve knew about it. Steve had seen. Really _seen_ him, in some deep, dark way that Tony had been so careful to hide, and now, Steve would despise him. He would know how weak Tony was. How there was this wrongness inside him that people like Ty and Preston and others (Howard) saw in him. He’d been so careful. So good.

But, now, Steve would know, and he’d be glad he got out before things went any further with Tony. He’d be relieved. That thought, more than anything else that had happened tonight, was the thing that pushed everything else aside, leaving only despair in its wake. How had he screwed this up so much? Why did he ever involve Steve in this? Just because he got drunk and all maudlin over his ex. Because he was weak, and he wanted to have Steve’s attention on him one more time. Because he wanted someone to look at him the way Steve used to, to make him feel like he was worth something, the way Steve always did, but of course, that had backfired, and now…now, Steve knew what he was. Steve would leave him for real this time. It had been building before, but Tony had been good at hiding this part of himself, but now, there was no hiding it. Steve would know who he really was. And Steve would hate him. Tony blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the inevitable meltdown, and wiped the back of his sleeve across his face. Steve started to close the car door, then stopped and leaned down, one hand reaching up to cup Tony’s chin. It was both the same as what Ty had done, and the complete opposite, Tony had time to think as Steve gently cupped his cheek and swiped his thumb across the wetness there.

“Hey, no,” Steve said quickly. His eyes had gone soft, wrinkling just a bit at the corners. “Whatever you’re telling yourself, no, okay?”

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Tony said in a thick, shaky voice, then squelched his face together, his whole body shaking with the effort to hold back the emotional tide that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I could never hate you, Tony. Please don’t do this to yourself,” Steve pleaded. “Please.”

“I screwed up,” Tony burst out. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a shuddering breath. It didn’t help.

“This wasn’t your fault, Tony,” Steve said. “You will not blame yourself for this.”

He sounded tired. And angry. Tony gazed up at him. Steve was looking away, back at the house, where the party goers milled on the porch and in the lawn amid a smattering of cups, bottles and plastic bags that floated around on the night air like urban jellyfish. Finally, Steve looked back over at Tony, his brows drawing together into a frown and his mouth flattening for a moment before his expression softened. He brushed a hand through Tony’s hair, moving the sweat-dampened curls back from where they had plastered themselves to Tony’s forehead. Again, Tony was struck by how similar the motion was to what Ty had done, and how different it felt. He wasn’t sure why, and his mind was too foggy to try to figure it out, but he leaned into the motion anyway. He’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be touched like this.

“Here,” Steve said, opening a compartment in between the two front seats and pulling out a bottle of water. “Drink this.” He opened the cap and held the bottle up to Tony’s mouth encouragingly. Tony obliged, drinking a couple of sips before he realized how fucking good water was. He grabbed for the bottle and tipped his head back, drinking deeply. “Slowly,” Steve cautioned, reaching for the bottle and pulling it away long enough for Tony to cough through the spasms that wracked through his body.

“Sorry,” Tony gasped out. Steve held the bottle out to him again, and this time, Tony took only small sips.

“Better?” Steve asked. Tony nodded. “Ready to go?” Tony nodded again. Steve started to close the door, but Tony reached out and laid his hand on Steve’s arm, stopping him.

“Steve?” Tony said. “Thank you for—you know—coming to get me and all. I’m sorry.” Thank you for putting my not-boyfriend through the ceiling? That was very cool, Tony had to admit, though he frowned at the memory. That…that couldn’t be right. He was way too out of it to think clearly, admittedly, but hadn’t Ty sort of…bounced off the ceiling? That didn’t make any sense. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The whole night was fuzzy and fading into snapshots of images that kept invading his mind in no particular order.

“I will _always_ come and get you, Tony,” Steve husked out, then bent forward and wrapped his arms around Tony, one hand pressed to the back of Tony’s head. “Always. I promise, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony breathed out into the curve of Steve’s neck. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He felt the warm breath of Steve’s sigh against the back of his neck as Steve’s arms tightened around him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Tony,” Steve replied tightly. He pulled back and held Tony’s face between his hands for a heartbeat. “I’m sorry anyone ever made you feel that there was. You’re…you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” He stroked the pad of his thumb over Tony’s cheek and smiled sadly. “You’re so smart and incredibly brave. Funny, kind, generous…I just wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“Sometimes, I almost could, when I was with you,” Tony replied, then blinked and looked down. “I’m going to throw up now.”

That was all the warning he was able to give, though to Steve’s credit, the man could move when the situation called for it. Most of it made it outside the car, and for that, Tony was grateful. Not that Steve said anything, just found a towel, wet it with some of the water, and dabbed the mess away from Tony’s mouth as best he could, then gave Tony the rest of the water to rinse out his mouth.

Tony faded in and out of wakefulness as they drove back to his apartment. The lights flashing by outside the window were too much for him, so he kept his eyes closed. Steve drove with one hand on the wheel and one hand on Tony, though he seemed to manage what little traffic there was this time of the morning just fine that way. Tony was fairly certain Steve even went over the speed limit, which just went to show how upset he was because Steve was a stickler for that kind of shit. Proper use of blinkers. Obey the traffic signs. Full stop at the stop sign. Two car lengths between you and the car in front of you. Tony huffed out a laugh, causing Steve to glance worriedly over at him. He just hummed and smiled, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window while Steve’s warm hand covered his. This was good.

There was something niggling in the back of Tony’s mind about all of this, but he couldn’t seem to latch onto it and the effort to try seemed insurmountable at the moment, so he pushed it away and focused on the way the glass felt, the way Steve’s hand felt, the way the water tasted, how the car was warm and quiet, how he was safe and Steve thought he was amazing, even though he had seen with his own two eyes that Tony was broken and wrong. Steve would probably come to his senses soon. He was just being a good guy, because Steve was like that. Good. It was nice, though. Even for a little while. 

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of Tony’s apartment building just below a No Parking sign. Steve was really living on the edge tonight, Tony thought with a small, amused smirk. Steve hopped out and came around the front of the car to open Tony’s door. He reached for Tony, but Tony held up a hand to stay the motion.

“I can walk. I got this,” Tony said, sliding out of the car. Steve caught him before he hit the ground. “I don’t got this,” Tony amended, blinking up at Steve. Steve shot him a long-suffering look, then lifted Tony up again. Actually, this was nice, Tony decided. Walking was overrated. Steve-mobile was good. He patted Steve’s chest. Good. He kept patting it. Really good. God, he’d missed that part, too. He traced his finger over the curve of Steve’s pecs, then down the center of his chest.

“Tony,” Steve said with an admonishing sigh. 

“Steeeee—eeeeve,” Tony sing-songed. “I missed you,” Tony added as Steve punched Tony’s code into the building door and shifted them through it.

“I missed you, too,” Steve replied softly, like he was sharing a secret. He took the stairs in slow, careful steps, like he was afraid if he jostled Tony too much, he might break him. Tony snuggled up against Steve’s chest.

“I meant your chest,” Tony said after a moment, giving it another quick pat.

“No, you didn’t,” Steve retorted. Tony could hear the smile in his voice.

“No, I didn’t,” Tony agreed with a contented hum. He was quiet for a little bit, thinking back over the bits and pieces of the night that kept filtering through his mind like an out of sync Viewmaster, where he could just see parts of the image and then a blank, white space. “I was thinking about you,” Tony began with a slight frown, “and then you came to get me. That was nice. Wait. Did I text you?”

“You called me,” Steve said after a moment. He sounded slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was carrying Tony up four flights of stairs, though to be honest, Steve didn’t really sound the least bit winded.

“Oh,” Tony said. “Ty never hears my texts.”

“Tiberius Stone is an asshole,” Steve bit out, his jaw working around the words.

“I’m hungry,” Tony said. “I thought he liked me.”

“I know,” Steve replied. Tony wasn’t sure which statement he was replying to, though he supposed it didn’t matter.

The door to Tony’s apartment was ahead. Crap. He’d left his keys…somewhere. At Ty’s maybe. He couldn’t remember.

“Key,” Tony said, letting his head fall back with dramatic sigh as they passed under a bright red Exit sign in the hallway. Maybe he could jimmy the lock, Tony thought. Or go bang on the building manager’s door. Tony was already on the guy’s shit-list on account of him having to write a building policy about the use of precision lasers, so it wasn’t like the guy could really hate him more at this point.

It was on the cusp of Tony’s lips to offer, when, miraculously, Steve tried the door and it…just opened. Huh. Maybe he had left it unlocked, Tony thought with a mental shrug. Steve got them inside and kicked the door closed behind him, then wound his way through the darkened apartment to Tony’s bedroom by memory. DUM-E whined softly from the corner.

“Hey there, Scrapheap. Say hi to Steve,” Tony mumbled, flinging a hand wide and nearly hitting Steve in the nose. Steve caught his wrist and pressed Tony’s arm back in to his chest as DUM-E whirred and beeped excitedly. The bot had always had a soft spot for Steve. “Traitor,” Tony snorted gamely. “No more upgrades for you.” The bot’s crane arm drooped and his pincers spun, then pointed downwards. “Maybe one more upgrade,” Tony called out as Steve carried him through the bathroom door and flicked on the light. DUM-E’s claws spun happily, and he rolled in a circle in his corner until he hit the wall. Stupid bot, Tony thought fondly.

Steve sat him down on top of the toilet. Tony watched as he got the water going, checking the temperature before putting the plug into the bottom of the tub.

“I can shower,” Tony protested.

“Your legs collapsed getting out of the car four minutes ago,” Steve reminded him.

“I’m better,” Tony assured him with several very firm nods. His head kept bobbing for a bit longer than he intended, but he finally managed to stop. “Four minutes is a long time. Lots can happen.”

“Stone tell you that?” Steve asked, looking over his shoulder where he was hunkered by the bathtub.

Tony stared at him for a few seconds, mouth hanging open in disbelief, then a spluttering laugh spilled out. It spilled out and over everything, and suddenly, Tony wasn’t sure if he was laughing or sobbing, it was all wrapped up together. Joy, terror, amusement, regret, relief, shame, happiness, anger, all of it bubbled up to the surface like a spicket had been opened. He was falling forward without realizing it, but it didn’t matter. Steve would catch him. And he did, wrapping Tony up in his arms and pulling him down onto the tile floor of the bathroom, cradled on his lap, just rocking him there and murmuring soothing nothings in Tony’s ear while he trembled and shook.

“I didn’t mean it,” Tony hiccupped out when he was finally able to catch his breath. “What I said about you not being enough. Or being boring,” he added with a wet sniff. “I didn’t mean it, I swear,” he sobbed, looking up at Steve. “You have to believe me. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t ever you. Please. Please, Steve, you have to believe me.”

“I believe you, Tony. It’s okay,” Steve said reassuringly, rubbing at Tony’s back while he tried to get himself under control.

“I thought you were going to leave me, like everyone always does, and I panicked, and said it first. It’s not supposed to hurt as much that way, but it _did_. And I don’t know—I don’t know _why_ , or—or what I’m supposed…how I’m supposed to do this,” Tony said. “I hate it. I hate all of this. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want you to—to think I’m—I’m weak or—”

“You’re not weak, Tony. For God’s sake, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” Steve cut in sharply.

“Stark men are made of iron,” Tony repeated dully.

“Do you think that’s what it means to be strong?” Steve demanded, giving Tony a little shake. “That’s not strength, Tony, that’s armor. This,” he said, softly tapping his knuckles against Tony’s chest, “is what makes you strong. The way you care, so damn much. The way you try so hard to help, to do what’s right, even when it should be impossible. The way you give and give and try to give some more, I swear, you would give your last breath if you could,” Steve continued. “It’s your heart that makes you strong, Tony, and yours is the strongest one I’ve ever known.”

Tony stared up at him, wide-eyed, too stunned to speak. He didn’t know what he would say, until he did.

“I love you,” Tony said.

“Tell me that again tomorrow, how about?” Steve prodded, running his hand through Tony’s hair.

“I’m not—I’m fine, and I’m serious, Steve, I do. I love you,” Tony insisted. “I love you so much. It’s like, it’s crazy how much and it scares me sometimes, and everyone kept saying it was too fast and we’re too young, but I do. I love you. I lov—” he broke off with a muted squeak as Steve shifted him on his lap. “Hey,” Tony admonished.

“Bath now, how about it?” Steve asked. “Then food and bed.”

“I want a cheeseburger and a milkshake,” Tony replied.

“Soup and crackers,” Steve corrected. Tony scowled.

“You’ll stay?” Tony asked. “I’m going to tell you I love you tomorrow.”

“I’ll stay,” Steve sighed. He reached out for the hem of Tony’s shirt, then stopped, hands hovering. “This okay?” he asked. Tony shrugged and peeled the shirt off. Well, mostly off. It got stuck around his head and his arms sort of flailed around a bit until Steve helped get it the rest of the way off. He kicked his shoes off and then somehow shimmied out of his jeans, leaving himself in his boxers and socks, sitting half atop the bathmat and half on Steve’s lap.

“Christ,” Steve said with a sigh, wiping a hand over his face. “When did you…” he stopped and shook his head.

“What?” Tony asked in confusion, looking down at his boxers. “You like?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at Steve, who was determinedly not looking at Tony. Apparently, Steve approved of Tony’s Captain America boxers. "Don't mock. You know I still have my fan club member card." Steve just shook his head and looked away, though Tony caught a bit of color on his cheeks before he hid it. He grinned. He always did enjoy making Steve blush.

Tony tugged his socks off one by one, then Steve helped him out of his boxers and lowered him into the bath. Tony figured he probably should be embarrassed, but since he’d just spilled his guts while sobbing on Steve’s lap, a little flash of what Steve had seen plenty of times before wasn’t really going to push him over the edge. The water was nice. Just the right temperature. Steve got up to put Tony’s dirty clothes into the laundry room, and that instantly made the bathroom smell fresher, Tony had to admit. He wasn’t gone long, then was back at Tony’s side. He’d picked up a washcloth along the way and used it to rub hot water up and down Tony’s back and over his shoulders. It felt amazing. Tony couldn’t remember when he’d felt anything so good as the constant motion of the cloth on his skin like that, a heady combination of warmth and care and _Steve_.

Exhaustion seeped into Tony’s skin and sank down into his bones. He was so, so tired. The water had dulled to lukewarm. His head was resting on Steve’s shoulder, as Steve’s motions with the washcloth slowed. He felt Steve shift a bit, and a moment later, heard the gurgle of water as the tub drained. A fluffy towel was wrapped around his shoulders and back, and then he was lifted out of the tub. It all happened in a pleasant, half-asleep, warm haze. Steve helped him get what Tony assumed was a Steve-approved pair of boxers on, then tucked him under the comforter.

“You should eat,” Steve suggested.

“In the morning,” Tony mumbled, rolling to his side. “Cheeseburger.”

“At least drink some more water,” Steve said. Tony hummed agreeably, while Steve went to fill a glass from the kitchen tap. He brought it back and held it to Tony’s lips while he drank, until Tony smacked his lips in satisfaction and pushed Steve’s hands away.

“Sleep now,” Tony breathed out.

“Okay,” Steve said, pulling the covers up to Tony’s chin. He hesitated a moment, then bent down and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s forehead.

“Don’t go,” Tony said, one hand snaking out to blindly grope for Steve.

“Are you—are you sure? I can take the couch,” Steve offered, voice hesitant and halting.

“Stay,” Tony replied. “Please.” He heard Steve blow a puff of air out of his nose in acquiescence and felt the bed shift as Steve took his place between Tony and the door. Tony rolled over and flung an arm over Steve’s chest, pillowing his head there and nudging Steve’s arm up and around his shoulders.

“Settled?” Steve asked. His voice sounded warm and fond, and it ran down Tony’s spine with a shiver.

“Yup,” Tony replied, burying his head a bit against Steve’s side. Steve was always so warm and solid. He smelled good, too. Hell, Steve even had good morning breath. It was really unfair. But, it had its perks, Tony could admit. He’d missed this so much. Just the feel of Steve being near, how it always made him feel safe and cherished. He could feel Steve’s fingers tracing a light line up and down his back from over the covers and snuggled closer. This was good. He’d tell Steve he loved him in the morning, when Steve would believe it was Tony talking and not the alcohol, and then…and then they could go back to what they had before. He frowned a bit, forehead scrunching up with the effort. There was something…something he was supposed to remember. It nagged at him, like a piece of gristle stuck in his tooth he couldn’t quite shake. Something about Steve…he tried to concentrate, but nothing came to his mind, so he pushed the thought to the side. It couldn’t be that important, he figured, drifting lightly as he sank into sleep. His fingers were tracing patterns on Steve’s chest. Steve didn’t seem to mind. A star, Tony thought dreamily as sleep claimed him.

Slants of light spilled into the room through the curtains when he woke, drawing lines across the floor. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in there and died, and he was alone in the bed, two not great things as far as Tony was concerned. Tony sat up in a rush, then grabbed for his head as the room tilted and his brain banged against his skull. He assumed that was what it was, anyway. His head cleared after a moment, and he could hear the soft, puttering sounds coming from the kitchen. Steve. He’d stayed. Relief rushed through him, making his limbs go boneless as he sagged back into bed.

Steve _stayed_.

Gingerly, Tony swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up slowly, making sure he could manage upright before he tried walking. A few careful steps later and his legs seemed to decide to work in something resembling actual coordination as he stumbled for the bathroom and rinsed his mouth out as best he could before heading for the bedroom door. He stood there in the frame of the door for a long moment, watching Steve bustling around in the kitchen. Tony could smell the coffee already, and his mouth watered. A white Styrofoam cup and brown paper bag with the name of Tony’s favorite greasy-spoon diner sat on top of the bar. He got me a cheeseburger and milkshake, Tony realized with a surprised lurch somewhere deep inside his chest. His stomach, which seemed to sleep in a bit longer than the rest of him, roared to life all of a sudden, making a loud, gurgling noise that drew Steve’s attention.

“Morning you,” Steve called out, raising a hand in greeting. “How are you feeling?”

“Starving,” Tony said.

“That’s good,” Steve said. “Got you a couple of things,” he added, nodding at the bag and cup on the counter. “You should probably take it easy, though. Maybe some toast first, see how it goes.”

“Yeeeeaaaah,” Tony said agreeably, then frowned. “Did I throw up in…Knight Rider last night? Or was that a weirdly specific dream?”

“You mostly got the ground,” Steve told him, shooting Tony a commiserating look.

“Um, so, yeah, sorry about that. About, you know, everything really,” Tony said, walking across the living room towards the kitchen.

“I told you last night,” Steve began, bracing his arms on the counter and dropping his head down for a moment before lifting his gaze to Tony. “You don’t have anything to apologize for about last night. I’m glad you called me. I’m glad I got there—” he broke off and cleared his throat. Tony could see the Adam’s apple bobbing there as Steve struggled with his words. He wanted to go wrap his arms around Steve, if for no other reason than it was strangely nice to actually see how upset Steve was on Tony’s behalf. “When I did,” he said finally, then went back to viciously scrubbing the counter with one of the dishtowels.

“Me too,” Tony said after a beat of silence. Steve glanced up at him, mouth flattened into a grimace, and looked at Tony searchingly for a long moment. He nodded jerkily, but his shoulders relaxed a bit, Tony noticed. “I should probably report them or something.”

“It’s taken care of,” Steve said with a careful nonchalance. Tony thought he should probably ask what exactly that meant, but at the moment, he honestly just didn’t care. For this one moment, he was going to let himself be taken care of. Give himself permission not to have to think about it or deal with it. Steve had taken care of it. He firmly believed that. It was enough.

“Think you got that spot,” Tony said, nodding down at where Steve was all but digging a hole into the granite with his scrubbing.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “Here. Eat,” he said, putting a plate of buttered toast and a steaming cup of coffee down in front of Tony.

Tony slid into one of the barstools and picked up the coffee. Ah, heaven, he thought, inhaling the aroma and following it up with the first, glorious sip. It was just the way he liked it, strong, with just a bit of cream. He was oddly pleased that Steve remembered.

“So. About last night,” Tony began, then let the words sit there between them. “I meant what I said. About everything,” he said, looking down at the plate and picking at the crisp edges of the bread. “I was sitting up there in that room, trying to convince myself I was happy. Or that I should be happy. And all I could think about was you.”

“I only ever wanted you to be happy, Tony. I know, those last few months we were together—I know I wasn’t here for you like I should have been,” Steve acknowledged with a frustrated puff of air. “I let—things, work, I don’t know—get in the way. And…there’s something—something I have to tell you. I guess it took me awhile to really see it, and then I did, and I knew I had to tell you, but…I didn’t want to hurt you. And I let that be my excuse for so long, I--” he broke off, running a hand through his hair, then dropping them both to his waist in what Tony liked to think of as the Classic Steve Rogers Decision-Making Pose. Tony grinned and took another sip of his coffee.

“Whatever it is, you know you can tell me, right?” Tony said. Steve looked away with a grimace. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, gaze snapping back to Tony. “I know. I never meant to push you away, Tony. You have to believe me. It was never you. I just…I kept trying to find a way to make everything work. Like if I just thought it through one more time, I could figure it out. A way to keep everyone from getting hurt, and—I don’t know. I guess I screwed that one up, didn’t I?”

“I’m pretty sure I did a fairly bang-up job of screwing things up, too,” Tony replied. “I was the one who broke it off,” he pointed out.

“After I made you feel like you had to,” Steve replied, mouth twisting around the words. “I’m sorry, Tony. I never meant to make you feel that way. That’s the last thing I wanted. And I’d never leave you, not in a million years, not unless you wanted me to.”

“I don’t want you to! I never did, not really,” Tony said, rubbing at his face with his hands to shake off the haze of emotions. “It’s always been you for me. I’m—I’m pretty sure it always will be. If you want me.”

“If I want you?” Steve huffed in question. “Being with you makes up for everything else. A hundred-fold. It’s not even close. I don’t think,” Steve stopped and reached up to rub at his forehead. “I don’t know if I could do this if it wasn’t for you. That’s…God, that’s not fair. I just—there were days when making sure you were okay, it got me through one more day, you know?”

Tony didn’t know, actually. He had no idea what Steve was talking about. It was an odd way to put it, but Tony thought he understood where Steve was coming from. He climbed out of the barstool and circled around the counter to reach Steve, finding himself pulled into a tight embrace without a word. He clung to Steve or Steve to him, he wasn’t sure it mattered. Finally, Tony peeled his head back and tipped his neck back to look up at Steve.

“I love you,” Tony said. “It’s the morning, I’ve had coffee, so it counts.”

“I love you, too,” Steve replied. “More than anything. I have—there’s something I have to tell you, though, Tony.”

“Then you’ll tell me, and we’ll deal with it,” Tony shrugged.

“It’s not that simple,” Steve sighed, voice heavy.

“I love you. You love me. I’ll make it that simple,” Tony replied. “Whatever it is, Steve, it’s okay. You went out at, what, 6 a.m. and got me a milkshake and cheeseburger, which they don’t even serve until eleven? You—you came to get me at some random party at fuck-all o’clock. You stayed. And you love me, and—and you think I’m strong,” Tony said, lifting Steve’s hand up to cover his heart. “I’m not so great at liking myself sometimes. Most of the time. But, I think I could like the person you see. I think I could like the person who is loved by Steve Rogers. Maybe…maybe that’s good enough. For now. I think that could be enough. I think _I_ could be enough.”

“You are,” Steve replied softly, bending down to brush his lips across Tony’s forehead in a light, warm tease. “More than you can possibly understand.”

“In case I didn’t mention it last night, thank you for, ah, rescuing me and all,” Tony said. “My hero,” Tony added, smiling shyly up at Steve.

Tony’s smile hung there for a moment, then his face froze, and he blinked up at Steve. “Wha—wait. Did I—I called you. I called you last night and…” Tony stepped back and shook his head, trying to jog loose whatever thought kept trying to unscramble itself.

“Tony,” Steve said, low and urgent with a plea. “Let me explain.”

“I called you. I called your work number, and—and you answered, but…” Tony trailed off, face screwing up into a confused frown. “Oh my God.”

“Tony, please, just give me a second to expl—” Steve started.

“Oh my God. Oh MY GOD, Steve! The fuck?” Tony shouted, pulling back from the tangle of Steve’s arms and glaring up at him. “You’re Captain America. Holy shit. Holy shit, Steve! What the fuck is going on???” Tony demanded.

“Tony,” Steve said again, reaching out a hand to try to calm him, but Tony batted it away.

“You threw Ty through the ceiling,” Tony remembered. “And tossed poor Thurston Howell the Third out into the hall like he was a ragdoll. You’re gone for ‘work’ when weird shit goes down,” Tony continued, making air quotes with his fingers around the word work. “And Captain America just happens to show up. Oh my God, you saved me from the kidnappers. You saved me, then you came to the house to—to what, check up on me? And then you…you kept showing up. Like the time with the airport ride and the chatter…fuck, there was really chatter wasn’t there? Wait. Do you have the shield? Of course, you do. It’s in your art portfolio that I’m never allowed to look at because ‘you aren’t done with those pieces’ and oh my God, you’re Captain America. Holy fucking shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit!” Tony grated out. “How the hell did you not tell me? We’ve been dating for two years! Jesus. Wait. I got that number from Nat’s phone, which means…”

“Nat’s Black Widow,” Steve sighed.

“Are you fucking kidding me with this?” Tony shouted, tossing up his hands and starting to pace. “No, wait. That actually kind of makes sense. Who else? Who else is involved in—in your little super-secret superhero club?”

“Sam is The Falcon,” Steve admitted, looking weary.

“Of course, he is. Those wings suck, by the way, I’ve said that like five hundred times,” Tony reminded him.

“I know. It really annoys him,” Steve replied, wiping the smile from his face with one hand, though not before Tony caught it and gave him an annoyed look. “Clint’s Hawkeye,” Steve said.

“ _Clll----iint?!?_ ” Tony squeaked out, his voice going high in disbelief. “So that’s why he always beats me at darts. What a dick.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I wanted to tell you, so many times, but…”

“But?” Tony pressed.

“But,” Steve began with a sigh. “We were just dating, and I didn’t know where it was going, and then, well. You didn’t have clearance. Fury—

“I knew he was shifty,” Tony cut in.

“Wanted to keep the whole superhero initiative on the down-low,” Steve continued. “Plus, you could be a target, if too many people knew about you.”

“I’ve been a target my whole life, as you can attest, since you fucking rescued me, don’t give me that bullshit line,” Tony shot back.

“Then it got complicated,” Steve said.

“Oh, _then_ it got complicated,” Tony parroted. “What happened then?”

“I fell in love with you,” Steve replied.

“Oh,” Tony said, momentarily thrown off course. His anger dulled a bit as he digested the shock of it. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand at least the concept of security clearances and a need-to-know. He had grown up in the military industrial complex, after all. Still, it rankled.

“Exactly. Oh. I fell in love with you, and I knew I had to tell you the truth. And I was. Had it all planned. And then D.C. happened,” Steve said.

“D.C.? Oh, you mean that thing on the freeway, right? With the—you sent me to Clint’s farm,” Tony recalled. “Why? Was I—was I in danger?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you were. A lot of people were. But, I thought, maybe especially you,” Steve said, his voice going low and slow, like he was trudging uphill through the words.

“Why?” Tony asked, bewildered.

Steve turned his head to the side and looked down at the counter, one finger tracing a line along the edge. “Because the man on the bridge, the one I fought, his name is Bucky Barnes, and I—I think he…he did some terrible things,” Steve said, dragging his gaze back to Tony.

“Bucky… _Bucky Barnes_? As in Bucky Barnes. From…but, I mean you—holy fuck, you… _Steve_ ,” Tony stammered, the import of what Steve was saying, all of what Steve was saying, starting to dawn on him now that the anger and hurt and confusion was slowly dissipating. “Jesus, Steve, you…”

“Yeah,” Steve said grimly. “They tortured him,” Steve continued, his voice shaking and eyes staring off into the distance. “They turned him into something he never was. You have to understand that, Tony. It wasn’t him, not really, but…it was.”

“Barnes?” Tony asked, frowning in confusion. Steve nodded. Not that he didn’t care about Barnes, but holy hell, Steve—Steve had to be…how was the guy even functioning? He reached out for Steve, wrapping his hand around Steve’s where it had been picking at the edge of the counter, and pulled Steve to him. “Hey. Whatever—whatever it is, I’m right here, okay?”

“It was him that night,” Steve began. Tony had a sudden, nearly overwhelming impulse to tell him to stop. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and coldness spread down his back. But, he forced the words back. There had been too many secrets pulling them apart for too long. “On the road back from the Pentagon. Your father was transporting something—something that Hydra wanted—and so they sent Bucky,” Steve explained slowly. “There couldn’t be any witnesses. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Tony swallowed thickly and nodded once.

“Tony?” Steve said when Tony didn’t say anything. 

“I’m thinking,” Tony replied. “My mom,” he said, sucking in a shaky breath. He wiped a hand across his eyes.

“Yes,” Steve acknowledged. "I'm so sorry, Tony. More than I can say."

“It's just...I thought I was done having feelings about that,” Tony responded on a shaky breath that he couldn’t quite catch. He closed his eyes for a moment and covered his face with his hands, then shook his head clear and dropped his arms to his sides. “Jesus. Fuck. You're Captain America. The--the ice, and--and God, seventy years, Steve, fuck. And now, you're telling me Howard didn't manage to slam them into tree all on his own, and _Bucky Barnes._..Sorry, I just, it's--it’s a lot to process at once. I'm gonna need a minute here. A week. A year, I don't know," Tony finished on a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through his hair.

“I know. I know, and I’m so sorry, Tony,” Steve rushed out. “I should have told you a long time ago. I didn’t know how to say it, and then…”

“Then I broke up with you, and you didn’t have to,” Tony filled in for him. “Is that,” he broke off, blinking hard and biting his lip as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Is that why you didn’t argue? Didn’t try to…”

“Yes,” Steve said after a long moment. “Losing you felt like no less than what I deserved.”

“But, you love me,” Tony said, lifting his eyes to Steve.

“More than anything,” Steve replied. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have let you go without telling you the truth and letting you decide. I told myself you were happier without me. You even said so, and as long as that was true, I could justify it to myself. But, then you called, and I—I realized last night that you weren’t happy. And it was my fault.”

“My terrible life choices are hardly your fault, Steve,” Tony gently corrected. “I didn’t have to go running to Ty the first sign of there being an issue with us, but I did. I didn’t have to push you away the exact way I knew would work. I did this, too.” Steve shook his head and opened his mouth to protest. Tony reached up and covered Steve’s lips with his hand, hushing him. “How about, and I know this is wild, but how about we are both adults and we both made some bad choices here. And maybe next time—next time there’s some issue,” Tony broke off, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth and sucking in a shuddering breath. “Next time, we talk about it?” he suggested, dropping his hand back down to his side.

“You’re—you really—you still want to…even though you know about Bucky?” Steve asked.

“Jesus, Steve, I don’t even know what to do with that,” Tony huffed out. “I’m going to need time. A _lot_ of time. I can’t—I can’t deal with all of this right now. It’s too much. I just, I can't right now. If I try, I'm going to fall apart. Last night, and then this, and--I thought I put all that behind me, you know? And now…you just have to give me time. And probably a lot of therapy. Let’s face it, that’s not entirely unneeded,” Tony snorted, giving Steve a quick glance before lowering his eyes again.

“Okay,” Steve said. “As long as you need. Whatever you need.”

“I need you to stay,” Tony said, reaching out for the front of Steve’s shirt. “I need you to stay with me, even if I push you away again. Even if I’m horrible. Because I can be, you know that. I’m probably going to get really pissed about all of this when I can think straight again. Just…stay, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve replied. “I’ll stay.”

Tony leaned in to Steve’s chest and fisted his hands in the front of Steve’s shirt, tugging at it until Steve got the hint and wrapped his arms around Tony’s back in an embrace that got tighter the longer it went on. It took Tony a moment to realize Steve was shaking.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Tony said.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Steve replied, drawing out a shaky breath from where his head bent into the shallow of Tony’s neck.

“You’ll always come and get me,” Tony reminded him gruffly. Steve choked out a low, wet laugh and pulled Tony up against him, nearly lifting Tony off the floor. Which he could do. Because he was Actual Fucking Captain America. Tony let out an involuntary giggle.

“What?” Steve said, pulling back and looking askance down at Tony.

“Sorry. Sorry. It’s just…I only realized,” Tony said quickly, then giggled again. “It isn’t funny. None of this is funny. It’s awful,” he laughed.

“What is?” Steve said, his frown slowing dissolving into a confused half-smile as Tony continued to grin up at him.

“I love you,” Tony said, his smile widening. “This is ridiculous and crazy, and I love you.” He stretched up on his tiptoes and pressed his mouth to Steve’s. It took Steve a couple of seconds to catch on, but he returned Tony’s kiss with equal gusto when he did.

“I love you, too,” Steve told him when they finally broke apart. “Care to fill me in on what’s so funny about this?” he asked with a bemused frown.

“It’s just…it’s stupid. This inside joke thing. It’s funnier in my head. I don’t know. It’s probably still the alcohol and whatever the fuck else was in that. It’s—it’s just that I kind of just now realized,” Tony began, shaking his head and biting his lip as he gazed up at Steve. “I’m Actually Fucking Captain America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to @tastes-like-coconut for the beta! Also to the anon who prompted the idea. I went a little off-script, but it was really fun, so thanks for the suggestion. 
> 
> I'm sabrecmc on tumblr, discord, twitter and occasionally, Dreamwidth and Pillowfort. Come say hi!


	4. Caveman AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a request from anon for a Caveman AU! It is A/B/O with Omega Tony and Alpha Steve. This chapter is rated Explicit. Please heed the updated tags. The non-con is off-screen between Tony and another character. Tony thinks about it from time to time, but it isn't in explicit detail. It is situationally and culturally not considered non-con by Tony (to some degree, at least at first) and by the group Tony is with. But, it definitely is. So, please use your best judgment and ask if you have questions. 
> 
> If you do decide to read, thank you and I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a couple of books I remember reading years ago, The Clan of the Cave Bear and The Valley of the Horses by Jean M. Auel. A lot of the world-building is inspired by that series. Things like the Clan language and the concept of Memories and the Mother, all of that is what I remember from the books, but I thought it worked really well with an A/B/O environment, and of course, everything works as Stony, lol. 
> 
> Thank you to tastes-like-coconut for the beta!

He was the first man of the Others Anto had ever seen. 

Anto wondered if all of the Others looked the way this man looked. It was shocking, at least to Anto’s eyes. At first, anyway. This is how I look to them, Anto had realized as he had stared down at the man lying prone by the bank of the river, bleeding rivulets into the dirt. No wonder they say I am ugly, he had thought.

To the clan, the man was horribly deformed, disgusting even. It had been almost all they talked about those first few weeks. His brow was weak. His head misshapen. His limbs too long, like branches drooping towards the ground. His chin was small, and his nose was pointed like a bird’s beak. Pale skin and hair, like some kind of walking spirit-form. And his eyes were the color of water.

That had been the thing that surprised Anto the most, when the Stranger did finally wake long enough to shout at them and try to struggle to get up before he collapsed again, exhausted and burning with fever. Tyber said the Stranger probably could not see well, and that was how he had found himself the prey of the cave bear that had clawed the man’s leg in long, bloody gashes, Anto remembered, absently reaching up to tap at the gouges on his chest as he trudged through the thick brush.

Anto privately thought the Stranger’s eyes were beautiful. He would never have imagined a person having eyes the color of the sky when the sun was at its peak and all the clouds had drifted away. All the clan eyes were brown, like his. Not exactly like his, of course. His eyes were weak, too. Sometimes, they leaked water. No one else had eyes that did this. No matter what medicine his mother gave him or how hard he tried to stop it, his eyes refused to completely heal. She said they probably never would, but they served him well enough, so he would have to make do. The Stranger’s eyes leaked, too. Sometimes, when he slept, he called out for someone, and his eyes leaked water, just like Anto’s eyes did.

Once the shock had passed, the Stranger’s appearance no longer seemed quite as repulsive as it first had, not that Anto would ever say such a thing. It had been a long time since Anto looked at his reflection in the still water, but he remembered what he looked like well enough, and if he didn’t, Tyber would remind him. He knew he was ugly. Big for an Omega, too, almost as big as Tyber, which seemed to anger the clan leader in a way that Anto could never seem to understand. Tyber would say that was because he was slow. Which, by clan standards, he knew he was, having to make up for not having the Memories the other clan were born with by forcing himself to memorize everything after only being told once. He would never be able to know things, the way the clan did with their Memories, but he tried. He had gotten fairly good at it over the years, at least to most of the clan, who ignored it when he didn’t know something any clan child would easily know. Tyber was the only one who routinely pointed it out, but he was leader, so Anto supposed he had reason to. A weak clan member meant a greater burden to them all. 

Anto didn’t think that was why Tyber pointed it out, though. There was always a sense of pleased cruelty in Tyber’s notice, and it seemed to fall on Anto far more than anyone else. Once, he would have been thrilled by that. He never imagined he would attract the interest of an Alpha, not looking the way he did, not if there were any other Omega available. He remembered Maara teaching him what to do and how to recognize the Alpha’s signal, even though she said he would likely never need it. His eyes had leaked then, and she made him a poultice for them, though that had not stopped the leaking. 

She had been wrong, though. He had needed to know. Later, after she helped him heal and gave him something for the pain, she taught him how to make her special medicine. The one that kept the Alpha’s spirit from taking root in the Omega. The one the Alphas could never know about. It would mean death, if they found out, Maara warned him. Anto had no doubt of that. Sometimes, he thought Tyber would like having a reason.

Big and ugly and stupid, that was him, Anto repeated to himself as he walked. Except…the Stranger looked like him. Not exactly, of course—he was dark-haired and dark-eyed and his face was smooth, the way an Omega’s was supposed to be, though he could grow a beard, unlike the clan Omegas, who were all bare-faced, though he kept his face carefully shaved. But the basic features were the same. And Anto didn’t exactly think the Stranger was ugly anymore. Just different. Sometimes, when he thought about it late at night as he lay in his furs, sometimes he even thought the Stranger was pleasing to look upon, with his water-eyes and hair the color of the sun. 

The Stranger was sleeping now, but he stirred as Anto approached the mouth of the cave, sitting up until he was leaning back against the stone wall. He had one of the furs wrapped around his shoulders, and an amulet of some kind hung from his neck. Anto had noticed it before, but he had been busy trying to save the man’s life, and hadn’t paid it much mind, but now, he saw that it was flat and round, with two circles carved into it, one inside the other, and thick, blunted points sticking out from the larger circle. It looked like nothing he had ever seen before, but he couldn’t stop staring at it when the Stranger wasn’t paying attention. He wanted to ask the man what it meant, since he had never seen anything like it, and the man had clutched at it while Anto cleaned his wound, before the pain got too much.

Sitting up like that, the Stranger’s head brushed the cave’s ceiling where it sloped towards the back. He will be tall when he stands, Anto thought, though he kept his gaze down, focusing on the poultice wrapped in strips of grass he carried. Thus far, the Stranger had only managed to hobble around to the mouth of the cave when he needed to make his water, and he always had to bend and hunch to avoid hitting his head. But, the splint of deer bone and sticks that Anto had made for the Stranger’s leg was off now, and when he stood, Anto thought he would be the tallest person Anto had ever seen. Taller than Anto, to be sure, but he was Omega, and the Stranger was Alpha, so that was to be expected. Taller than any Clan, though, even Tyber, and he was the biggest Alpha Anto had seen.

Until they came upon the Stranger, that is.

He was almost healed now. It had taken all of Anto’s skill and knowledge to keep the Stranger alive this long, but it had worked, and for that, Anto felt a keen sense of…not pride. That would be wrong. The knowledge wasn’t his, after all, but passed down from Maara, and from her mother, who had been healer, and from her dam-father, who had also been healer and so on back further than even Jhrvis could see, and he was mog-ur. Accomplishment, maybe, Anto thought. Everyone had assumed that the Stranger would die. Anto thought that might be why Tyber hadn’t argued more with Jhrvis, though he would never say such a thing.

Anto was healer, as Maara had been before him, and it wasn’t in him to simply leave the Stranger to his fate, as the clan wanted. But, it wasn’t his decision. He was healer, and that gave him status, but Tyber was clan leader, and Tyber had wanted to kill him, Anto remembered. There was little anyone could do to dissuade him, and certainly nothing Anto could do. The more Anto pleaded with him to let him do something, even just give the man water from his bag, the more Tyber grew rigid and angry at being questioned. They were making the rest of the clan uncomfortable. Clan didn’t argue. There was rarely a need to yell or raise voices. Everyone understood too much what was going on for there to be misunderstandings, and the clan’s structure was very clear. Everyone had their roles. Anto had known that he was overstepping by trying to bargain with Tyber. He had known Tyber would punish him for it. He had also known, though it had come after years of failing to see, that Tyber both loathed and wanted this from him, even as he berated Anto for it. He didn’t know why he kept doing it to himself. He had not been able to simply walk away from the man, though. Maara had not left him, when she could have and her life would have been much easier for it, though he knew she would have, if she had been told to.

Anto had looked down at the Stranger and felt a strange sense of certainty settle over him. He was a healer. He could not leave this man. No matter what Tyber said. He had been banished before, and survived. If that was his fate again, then so be it.

But, Jhrvis had overruled Tyber, for reasons Anto didn’t understand, since Jhrvis almost never did, though his position as mog-ur gave him the right to do so when it concerned spiritual matters. Life, death, dreams, and the secret knowledge that only mog-urs could even begin to comprehend, those were the provinces where Jhrvis’ judgment prevailed, but clan matters were left to Tyber, and the decision of whether to help the Stranger had seemed, even to Anto, to be well within Tyber’s rights. 

Yet, Jhrvis had insisted that the Stranger must be helped. That he had seen this man in one of his Visions, placed in their path by the Great Bear herself, and here he was, marked by the Clan’s totem, so there could be no mistake. 

Even Tyber did not dare risk the power of the spirits. But, he did insist that the Stranger was not to stay in their cave, and so Anto had led them here, to what he thought of as his cave, small and hidden behind two felled trees, where he had spent the time of his banishment. It seemed fitting, in a way Anto couldn’t quite describe, to have the Stranger here, though for so long, he had kept the knowledge of his cave secret, even from Jhrvis. Even from Maara, before she walked with the spirits. He told her then. He thought she seemed pleased.

Tyber had _not_ been pleased. This was clan land, and everything here belonged to their clan. It was Anto’s duty to tell Tyber what he had found. He knew that. Secrets were forbidden. Dangerous. Almost impossible, really, with the way the clan had to share space and rely on each other to survive. 

Besides, Anto didn’t think it would have ever even occurred to anyone else to keep the cave’s existence a secret. He didn’t think any of the rest of the would even be able to comprehend a secret. There were things they did not know, because they lacked the Memories for those things, but these weren’t secrets. Not the way the cave was.

Only Anto would think of such a thing. That was what Tyber said, anyway, and he was probably right. There was a sense of wrongness running through the entire clan. A disquiet. They didn’t know what to do with the idea of a secret, Anto had realized. It confused and confounded them. They wouldn’t understand about a place to call your own. All was Clan. Or it wasn’t. All belonged to the clan. Or it didn’t. There was no in between, where something belonged only to you, separate and secret.

Even Jhrvis had looked at him with an odd, dark look, and Jhrvis, of all of them, understood about secrets. It was the only time Anto remembered ever seeing Jhrvis angry. He had thought Jhrvis would be pleased. Proud, even, that Anto understood the counting sticks. That he had made more. More and more, and there could be even more, Anto had explained, more with no end. It had made complete sense to Anto. Wondrous, intriguing, tantalizing sense. It had terrified Jhrvis. _You must never tell them, Jhrvis had warned. You must never speak of this again. Never touch these. Never, Anto. You must promise me._ It was the only time Anto had been afraid of Jhrvis. He had promised, and kept that promise, though Jhrvis had never quite treated him the same way after that, he thought. There had been some distance there. A gulf that Anto had not realized he was crossing when the bundle of counting sticks spilled out and he had slowly placed them back in their bindings, thinking about the little hashmarks cut into them as he went. 

Anto had never mentioned the counting sticks again, though he sometimes thought about them in his head as he gathered the grasses, plants and bark that he needed to keep his medicine bag supplied. Anto hadn’t told anyone about his cave, either, not until he had to. For the Stranger. Anto had known what would happen if Tyber ever found out that Anto had kept his cave a secret, but he had kept it to himself anyway, at least until now. It almost felt like he had completed some task without ever realizing he had been in the middle of doing so until he was done.

He was still sore from his punishment, true enough, but it had set things right in the camp to see it, as if everything had been reset to the way it was before the secret. Clan could do that. Their Memories were deep, but with that came the ability to un-know things, too. To un-remember them. An Omega keeping a secret from the clan’s Alpha was not something they could comprehend, but an Omega being rightly punished was expected, and as with all corrections by their Alpha, it served to undo the transgression in the clan’s mind. So, the secret-keeping was simply gone, as if it had never existed. Anto wondered if he raised it, if they would even be able to remember what it was he meant about a secret cave. Probably not. They would look at him oddly and wonder, but not be able to hold on to a concept of a thing that had not happened, the same way they had been able to stop seeing him during his banishment, when Jhrvis had announced that Anto walked with the spirits now. To them, he had, it was as simple as that.

Anto couldn’t do that. He remembered everything. He didn’t have clan Memories. But he remembered.

With a sigh, he ducked into the cave and knelt in front of the Stranger, waiting. As always, the Stranger didn’t know how to signal him with a tap on his shoulder to indicate it was acceptable for him to raise his eyes. Instead, the Stranger made sounds. All kinds of sounds. Long, humming strings of sounds.

Anto had never heard anything like it, except perhaps from birds, though it wasn’t like birdsong, not really. It was words. _Words._ Words for things. Names, meanings, all of it, spoken aloud in a great cacophony of sounds. The Stranger knew so many of them. It seemed impossible to Anto that there could be sounds to mean everything in the world. There were too many things.

Clan communication was mostly with signals, gesture, posture, expression…almost entirely unspoken, punctuated only by the occasional noise for emphasis or inflection. This was how the Others must communicate, though Anto couldn’t imagine how it could possibly work, and yet, it must, because the sounds kept spilling from the Stranger’s mouth every time he saw Anto. It wasn’t all sounds, Anto had realized after a few visits. He could tell by the tightness on the Stranger’s face when he was in pain or something was bothering him. Sometimes, the Stranger’s mouth turned down, and his shoulders sagged, and he would wipe his big, flat brow with his hand, and Anto took this to be sadness. Or maybe frustration. He didn’t know the man’s signals yet, but he was learning.

Finally giving up the hope that the Stranger might acknowledge him with the familiar tap on his shoulder, Anto glanced up and held the poultice aloft, then pointed at the Stranger’s leg. The Stranger did that thing where he opened his lips and bared his teeth. It should be terrifying.

For Clan, that was a sign of aggression. Only Alphas ever did it and then, only in the worst possible situations. Fights were rare, after all, since everyone had their role and no one could do anyone else’s, and everyone knew everyone else’s status, so there was never a question as to who got first chance at food or the better furs or an Omega, if they had need. But when Alphas did fight, maybe two from different clans who wanted the same Omega first, it was a brutal, savage brawl.

Clan were smaller than the Stranger, but sturdy and heavily muscled. Anto thought of the man at the last Gathering who had his nose flattened and two teeth missing. Tyber’s doing, Anto knew, though not over some Omega, but because Tyber had been angry at missing his chance on the hunt and accused the man of taking his kill, though the man had offered him half, as was custom. Tyber had signaled Anto that night, he remembered, thinking about downcast eyes and heavy silence that hung in the air as he knelt and presented. They didn’t understand Tyber’s interest any more than Anto did, or why he was different with Anto than with other clan Omegas, but he was Omega and Tyber was Alpha and their leader, and they wouldn’t think to question it. If anything, Anto, as undesirable as he was, should be grateful for Tyber’s interest. Perhaps the spirits would even grant him a child, if he pleased his Alpha well enough.

Anto suspected that if that was truly how a child was created, then he would never have anything to worry about, since Tyber was never pleased with him. He took Maara’s special medicine anyway, just to be certain. It would make his spirit hard to conquer, she said. Not impossible. Some spirits were strong enough to overcome even the medicine and mix with the Omega’s spirit to form a child. So far, though, Tyber’s spirit was apparently not that strong, and for that, Anto was deeply relieved. The last thing he wanted was a child of Tyber’s spirit, though it seemed to frustrate Tyber to the point of rage that Anto never conceived. It was an embarrassment that his spirit wasn’t strong enough to conquer an Omega’s, and Tyber hated him for that above almost anything else, Anto thought, knowing that he would face Tyber’s wrath each time his Heat came and went without a quickening, and that it would be worse while Tyber tried to prove his spirit was strong enough, at least until he got frustrated enough to give up for a time, blame Anto and his misshapen body and foul, unnatural spirit that was too strong for an Omega. Anto liked the peace of that time, short though it sometimes was.

The Stranger nodded at him, drawing Anto’s focus back to him. He bared his teeth again and pointed at the poultice in Anto’s hand. It was different when the Stranger made such a face. There was no malice or anger there. Instead, his face went soft and his body relaxed. His water-eyes crinkled at the corners. Anto thought he looked nice like that, at least once he got used to it. Now, Anto rather liked the Stranger’s bared-teeth look and sometimes tried to do things that seemed to produce it, like bring the Stranger something to do with his hands while he sat, though since Anto was Omega, this mostly meant tasks like weaving and separating plants and animal parts to be dried and hung. It had surprised Anto when he had brought some work to the cave along with the man’s food that the man had been interested in what he was doing, then shocked him all the more when the man actually started helping. It hadn’t occurred to Anto that the man could do those things, even if he had wanted to. A Clan man couldn’t. He would have no Memories for it.

The Stranger actually seemed to enjoy the tasks, though. And he made his sounds while he worked. Anto liked to listen. There was something pleasing about hearing the man’s deep voice ring in the cave as they worked side by side. He desperately wanted to ask the Stranger to tell him what the sounds meant, but it wasn’t proper to talk to an Alpha like that, let alone a man of the Others, so he mostly sat in silence and listened. Once, he had come back to find all his grasses woven into a small basket, but done in such a way that the grasses formed a pattern of different colors and shapes that was like nothing he had seen before. 

Beautiful, Anto thought.

Why someone would make a basket into something beautiful, he didn’t know. It took far more work. It was pointless. And yet…he hadn’t been able to stop looking at it. It was like the man’s amulet. There was no discernible purpose to it, except decoration, and yet, it held a fascination for Anto that he couldn’t quite put into words. 

Seeing his interest, the man had picked it up and handed it to him, making some kind of encouraging noise. Anto couldn’t take it from him, of course. That would be improper. But when the man put it down, Anto had hesitantly picked it up and turned it over, admiring it from all angles. This made the man bare his teeth again. There was a cover on the top of the basket. Anto took that off and immediately dropped the basket, scooting back in horror. There was a creature inside. 

The man made chuffing, upset noises and held out his hands in front of him, shaking his head. His mouth went flat and he hung his head. Anto would have said that was an apology, but Alphas didn’t apologize, so it made no sense. The Stranger picked up the basket and took the creature out, holding it on his outstretched palm for Anto to see. It was a bear. Made from grasses all twisted up together. Not exactly a bear. But, also, a bear. Anto could see it, but for a moment, he couldn’t process what he was seeing. A bear made of grasses. He had no context for it. He had never seen anything like it. No one from the Clan would ever make something like this. They wouldn’t be able to even think of making something like this. There were no Memories of such a thing, and so it shouldn’t exist. And yet, he was immediately intrigued. 

He had reached out and gingerly plucked the grass-bear from the man’s hand, then held it cupped in his own. Jhrvis would say it was deep magic to capture an animal’s spirit like this. Jhrvis would probably also say it was wrong. Anto was sure Tyber would. They would say he had to destroy it. He had looked up at the man, who bared his teeth at him again and ducked his head with a slight nod. Anto had curled his hand around the grass-bear, then carefully set it back in the basket and replaced the lid. Both were hidden now, along with the other thing he wasn’t supposed to have.

Anto didn’t know why he was thinking of the grass-bear now, when he had a job to do, though probably because the man was making that face at him again. He bent over to look at the man’s leg where the gashes were now long, thick welts of skin, clearly visible, but no longer the angry red color they had been for so long. The man pointed at his leg, then made a sound. A word. It was a pleased-sound, that much Anto could tell. Curious, even. He wanted to tell the man that he hadn’t been sure that would work, but the skin had refused to stay together in a simple wrap and brace, and the idea had occurred to him as he watched one of the other Omegas force a long, thin branch in and out of a deer’s bladder to hold the end open while it dried. He wanted to tell the man that he had splinted his leg to keep him from moving it too much and tearing the careful stitches, but that it was ready now, he thought.

Of course, that meant the man would be leaving soon. He would go back to his own people. The Others. He wanted to ask the man to stay, but Tyber would never allow it. Already, Tyber demanded the man leave before the leaves started turning, healed or not. And that would be soon.

Anto sighed and glanced up at the man again. The man didn’t seem to mind the rudeness, Anto had learned. Anto pointed at the man’s leg, then lightly touched the knots where the sinew was tied as it pulled the flesh together. The man’s mouth turned down again. He needed to take the stitches out before the skin grew around them. It would hurt. He wanted to tell the man this, but the man wouldn’t understand his signals. He thought back to the sound the man had made, when he bared his teeth and looked pleased.

“Guh. Guhd,” Anto said, tapping at one of the knots. 

The man pulled back from him in surprise, then made the same face, baring even more teeth this time and making some kind of huffing noise that made Anto startle. 

“Good?” the man said, raising his voice a bit on the end in a way that Anto had come to understand meant it was a question. 

Anto pointed at the knot again. “Gud.”

“Ah. Good, good!” the man repeated, then nodded enthusiastically. He made other sounds. Anto didn’t know what those meant, but he caught a few familiar ones. 

“Gud,” Anto said, tugging lightly at the knot. “Gud.”

“Oh. Good,” the man said, then his lips curled and his mouth flattened, head drifting a bit to the side. Anto thought that meant he understood, so he pulled out his small, sharp piece of flint and pointed it down at the man’s leg. 

The man sighed, then shifted a bit to give Anto better access. Anto stretched out his hand and brought the sharp stone to the first knot. The man sucked in a breath, and his hand covered Anto’s, stilling him. Anto looked up expectantly. The man bared his teeth again, then pointed at the stone and then at his groin, making a sort of high-pitched sound of mock distress.

Anto looked down at the position of his hand, the sharp blade he held, and the proximity to the man’s groin, then realized…it was humor. The man found the situation humorous and was sharing that with Anto. He blinked up at the Stranger in confusion. Clan understood humorous things that happened from time to time, if they saw it or heard it in a story, they could understand something that happened that was funny. They could not understand an association between things that was funny in a way that could happen, but had not happened. They would never be able to find humor in a possibility, but this man could. Anto could. He understood why this was funny, why the man was making something humorous out of it, and what the man was suggesting could happen, but he had thought he was the only one who did this, who had these kinds of thoughts, and yet, this man casually understood why the situation was funny, as if that was something he did often. 

Then the man started making some kind of huffing-crackling-wheezing noise that seemed to start in his chest and shake out of him. Anto stared at him in wonder. He remembered that noise. He had made that noise when he was small, and it had so disturbed the clan that Maara made him stop, but now, here was this man making that same noise and not seeming to care at all. Finally, Anto realized he was being rude, even if the man didn’t seem to mind, and dropped his gaze. The man’s noises slowly stilled to a halt and he dropped his hand from where he had been holding onto Anto’s. It was still warm and oddly tingly, Anto noticed. The man nodded once, which Anto took to mean he should start.

He was quick about it. Round dots of blood welled up where he cut the knots out, but the skin held together. When he was done, the man let out a long, shaky breath, then reached down to examine the gashes. 

“Good,” the man said. Anto looked up, hoping to catch an unguarded glimpse of the man while he was distracted, and was caught by the man’s steady gaze. “Good,” the man repeated, reaching out to cup Anto’s cheek in his hand. Anto went still. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but not for the man to rub the pad of his thumb across the bruise that still darkened Anto’s cheek and make some kind of face that Anto recognized as distress. The man was looking at him carefully, his gaze sharp, then he dropped his hand and leaned back against the cave wall again, mouth twisting into an expression of displeasure. I’ve done something wrong, Anto thought, and quickly dropped his gaze. He was being rude. No wonder the man was displeased. 

Anto picked up the poultice again and set about applying the paste to the man’s leg, making sure to rub it into the flesh and massage the muscle to help it heal. He had done this same routine several times over the past few weeks, though never without the stitches being in place and the splint wrapped around the man’s leg, and with a far gentler hand. Now, with the stitches out and the splint discarded, he could let his fingers dig in and really feel the muscle. He thought it felt good. Strong. No tears that he could detect, and the flesh was no longer heated with sickness. He was pleased.

The man shifted and made a noise in the back of his throat, making Anto pause for a moment in his ministrations. He chanced a glance up and saw that the man’s face was tight and contorted, though he didn’t seem to be in pain, exactly. Anto dropped his eyes back down and gentled his hands, checking in again to see how the man was doing. His head was tipped back, and his throat bobbed, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes closed. Anto thought he looked beautiful like that.

“Gud?” Anto asked. The man huffed out a puff of air through his nose. 

“Good,” he said after a long pause. He opened his eyes and looked at Anto. Anto was almost used to the man’s directness by now, but it still caught him by surprise sometimes, like now, the openness in the man’s face. His eyes were wide and dark, the color of the sky before a storm, Anto thought to himself, his hair was sticking up and plastered with sweat that clung to his brow, and his gaze was rapt, focused on Anto in a way that made something warm open up deep inside Anto’s belly. 

Anto dropped his gaze again, his eyes catching on the man’s groin, where his cock pressed hard against the remains of his breeches. Oh, Anto thought, understanding, surprise and…something else mixing around in his head. He has need, Anto thought, with a sudden flush of heat crawling across his skin, followed by the wayward thought that he wouldn’t mind if the man signaled him. The man’s leg was all but healed, and while it might be awkward, it had been a long time for the man, Anto knew. He didn’t know how often Alphas of the Others needed to rut, but it didn’t surprise him that the man had need by now. Maybe if the man liked him well enough, he would stay a bit longer with Anto. Bare his teeth at him some more and make that huffing-crackling-wheezing noise with him when something was funny. Maybe he would tell Anto some of his sounds and show him how to capture animal spirits in grass.

A rush of wetness leaked down the backs of his thighs. Alpha, Anto thought, feeling his breath coming in quick, sharp pants. It occurred to him that he wasn’t distressed by the idea of the man giving him his signal, not the way he always felt when Tyber signaled him, when his mind thrummed with fear and pain and cold, dark anger coiled deep inside him. Other Omegas seemed to like it well enough, after all. And the man was like him. One of the Others. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much with his own kind.

It was forbidden to ask for things from the spirits, but he had, once, when he watched Jhrvis and the other mog-urs at their ritual. He was the one to make the sacred mixture, and there had been too much, but you couldn’t simply pour it into the ground, not something like that. So he had finished it himself, and walked in the spirit world for so long, he worried he couldn’t make it back, so he had asked the Great Bear to send him home. He had woken up, eventually, and Jhrvis hadn’t spoken to him for a long time after that, and the next time, he made just the right amount of the mixture.

You couldn’t ask for things, but sometimes, the spirits gave boons, if you honored them properly. A good hunt. Just the right piece of flint. A berry bush laden with fruit. The Great Bear herself had given the man to Anto, hadn’t she? That had to mean something. Jhrvis thought it meant something. Maybe this was why. Maybe the man would take Anto with him when he left. Maybe he would teach Anto his words and bring him to his hearth. That thought sent a warm shiver up his back, though he knew it wasn’t likely the man wanted to bring home an Omega, and certainly not one like Anto.

Perhaps, though, the man’s spirit was strong enough to conquer Anto’s before he left. He would like a child of this man’s spirit, he thought, though a part of him ached at the certainty of what that child would go through. I shouldn’t want that, he thought, but then, he wouldn’t be alone anymore, and his child wouldn’t be alone, either. They would have each other. If the Great Bear willed it, then who was he to say no to her gifts?

He looked up at the man from under his lashes, though the Stranger was looking away from him, his head turned and cheek pressed against the wall of the cave. Anto waited, keeping his eyes down, and letting the movement of his hands slow until he had all but stopped his ministrations. Maybe the man was waiting for him to finish. The man wasn’t a healer, after all. He wouldn’t know. Anto pulled his hands back to his lap and stretched out his neck a bit to indicate his interest. Maara had taught him that, though he never had cause to use it. He felt another spurt of slick leak out of him, and to his surprise, his own cock hardened against his thigh. Still, the man didn’t give his signal, whatever it was that the Others used, and yet, Anto could clearly see the evidence of the man’s need. Finally, Anto sat back on his heels, spread his legs a bit, dropped his hands to his sides, bared his neck, and waited. He had never done that before, invited an Alpha to choose him, but the man clearly didn’t know Clan signals, and Anto didn’t know the Other’s signal, so being obvious seemed the best choice. 

Nothing happened. 

It dawned on him with a sort of slow-moving humiliation burning through him that the man wasn’t going to signal him. That even though the man clearly was in need and Anto was the only Omega available, he still didn’t want Anto. He would rather deny himself than take Anto. Even a Clan Alpha, if his need was great enough and there wasn’t anyone else, would use Anto if he had to, but the man must find him so repulsive that he would prefer to suffer through his need than give his signal. Big, ugly, stupid, Anto’s head chanted to him. Even a man of the Others didn’t want him, even when he was the only Omega available. The man would rather ignore his need than take Anto. There was clearly something wrong with him. He had known it his whole life, but to have it made so plain for him…he must be truly revolting, not just to Clan, but to anyone.

It shouldn’t hurt so much. Not by now. He didn’t even like it, though he thought, maybe, maybe with the Stranger, it wouldn’t be like with Tyber. His throat closed and his eyes watered, but he managed to get to his feet and walk out of the cave on stiff legs. The man called out something to him, but Anto couldn’t possibly go back. His shame, the bitter disappointment, it was too much. He wanted nothing more than to sit at Jhrvis’ hearth and arrange his plants and powders and not think about how he was so disgusting that even a man of the Others with no other option didn’t want him. 

He had to go back, of course. He was healer, and the man was still in his care. Besides, no one else was allowed near him, so it fell to Anto. That was Tyber’s rule, probably something he imagined as a punishment, which Anto had actually relished, at least until now. He had liked having the man to himself. He hadn’t realized quite how much until the prospect of the man leaving coupled with the knowledge that the man was so disgusted by him that he wouldn’t even use him when he had such a great need left Anto feeling like he could barely move, his limbs were so heavy, as he slowly walked back towards his once-secret cave the next morning. 

A part of him wanted to just set the food and water down outside the cave and go. The man could stand now, albeit not particularly well yet, but he couldn’t shirk his responsibility just because he was humiliated. What would Maara think of him? A healer who let his embarrassment keep him from healing was no healer.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he was almost upon the cave when he looked up and came to an abrupt halt. The man was standing outside the cave, clad only in his breeches, clearly trying to hobble around on his leg unaided and having a hard time of it. Anto’s first thought was that he had been right, the man was tall. His second thought was something less formed, hovering in the back of his mind like a bee over a flower, though he felt a spurt of warmth bloom in his chest followed by a deep ache, as if he could not quite get the right amount of air. 

The man was beautiful, even more so out here in the light, without the pall of sickness and pain. He had broad shoulders and a flat stomach that rippled with muscles as he moved. The amulet Anto had noticed before swung from his neck, and he had shaved his beard off, leaving his face smooth. He looked younger like that, Anto thought. He was long-limbed and lithe, where Clan were short and stocky, his legs and arms thick with well-defined muscles that Anto could almost feel under his hands as he watched the man move. Clan were far more burly. Not fat, but thick, like the branches on a tree, but this man was lean, more like Anto, but far more heavily muscled, like one of the big cave lions who sometimes prowled the hunting grounds at night and stole Tyber’s kill. The Stranger was beautiful, Anto was far past trying to deny that now, and he was leaving, and everything would go back to how it was before.

His eyes stung and he blinked back the wetness, wiping at them with the back of his hand. Then he remembered that the man’s eyes leaked sometimes, too. At least he knew that wasn’t something wrong with him. The Stranger had given him that much. He was a healer, and he had a task, and if that was all there was, then so be it. He pushed his shoulders back a little and made his way up to the cave. The man stopped his attempts at walking and raised a hand in what Anto had come to recognize as a greeting. Anto did the same. The man bared his teeth again, then his face turned a bright red. Anto rush over and put his palm on the man’s forehead, though he couldn’t feel any warmth. He cupped the man’s cheeks and felt just below his jaw, but there was no sign of illness. 

The man shook his head and gently wrapped his hands around Anto’s wrists, lowering them from his face. He cleared his throat and made more sounds. Anto recognized some of the sounds from before, but their meaning escaped him. Finally, the man stopped and sighed, running a hand through his hair and putting his hands on his hips so his elbows stuck out at odd angles. It was such a strange pose, Anto skittered away and blinked at him.

The man reached out, waving his hand back and forth in the air, then bit his lip. The corners of his mouth tugged up, not quite baring his teeth, but it was enough like that that Anto thought it might mean the same thing. 

“Good,” the man said, pointing at Anto, then spreading his hands wide. For Clan, that meant defenseless and was a sign of supplication. Anto didn’t know what it meant for the Others. He wished he could ask. “Steve,” the man added, pointing his finger back at himself and tapping his chest. Anto perked up. That must be what the man was called.

“Seee,” Anto tried. 

“Steve,” the man said again, drawing out the word.

“Seeve,” Anto said. “Gud. Seeve.”

“No good, Steve,” Steve said, mouth twisting. “Good,” he said again, pointing at Anto once more. Anto wasn’t certain what the word meant, except it was intended as some kind of pleasantry, and he liked the way it sounded when Steve said it. Steve pointed down at his leg. “Good,” he said again.

Anto looked at him in confusion for a moment. Maybe the Others had to express gratitude to a healer. With Clan, it was simply what he did, and Brun knapped flint and Erga grew herbs and Jhrvis was mog-ur. No one would think to say thank you for doing what it was that you were born to do, the only thing you _could_ do. Of course, you did it. But perhaps it was different with the Others, Anto thought. He suddenly wanted to ask the Stranger if he did anything other than make grass-bears and baskets. If he could. Anto suddenly wanted to ask the man if Omegas of the Others hunted, if they built things that no one had built before, if they could think about the counting sticks, or if he was the only one who was like this.

Steve took a step forward, then winced and faltered. Anto caught him under his arm before he stumbled, hearing him grunt as he righted himself. He had one arm hooked around the man’s back and a steadying hand on his stomach. Under his hand, he felt the man suck in a sharp breath. He looked up and saw that the man was looking down at him, his eyes wide and mouth forming a small circle, and then the man was twisting himself out of Anto’s grasp and stepping away. Shame coursed through Anto, making his insides hot and loose. Clearly, Steve couldn’t bear to have Anto touch him, at least not in a way that didn’t involve healing.

Anto drew in a bracing breath and forced himself to stop shaking. He reached into his medicine bag and pulled out the salve he had brought for the man’s leg, then held it out to him. Steve took it and raised it to his nose to sniff, then drew back with a grimace. It did smell, Anto could admit.

“Gud,” Anto assured him. It would help the muscles not be so sore. 

“Good, huh?” Steve said, then nodded his assent. 

Anto opened his pack and took out the ptarmigan one of the hunters had caught in a spring-trap and held it up by its feet. He had already plucked the feathers, since he wasn’t sure if the man would know how. “Gud,” Anto told him, holding out the bird for Steve to take. 

“Good,” Steve repeated, though this time, he said it while baring his teeth and making a low, huffing-crackling-wheezing noise that Anto thought meant humor, though what was amusing escaped him. 

Anto handed Steve the water bag next, then turned to go, only to have Steve reach out and grab his arm, then hastily drop his hand. He was making more words that Anto didn’t understand, but he held up his hands in a stopping motion as he backed away, which Anto assumed meant he wanted Anto to wait. Anto watched him duck into the cave, then pop back out a moment later, this time with Anto’s blade in one hand. He had dropped it the day before, and had just assumed he would have to make himself a new one, which he could do, but spending all that time knapping a new blade while trying not to break it or shave off his finger wasn’t exactly how he had wanted to spend his morning, so it was actually rather pleasing that Steve thought to give it back to him. 

Anto held out his hand, and Steve dropped the blade into it, then quickly stuck out his other hand and held something else out to Anto. Anto stared at it, confused as to what he was seeing. It was the bone from the discarded splint he had made. Except it wasn’t. Not anymore. It was something else now.

Steve had cut some kind of grooves into the bone in a pattern not too different from the one he had used on the basket. A series of lines that formed sharp edges, like teeth, and at the center, a lion sprang across the length of bone, almost like it could leap right off. Anto had never seen anything like it. He studied it a long moment, turning it over and over in his hand. However he held it, the lion seemed to be looking at him. He lifted it up above his head, then held it down at his knees. Still, the lion watched him. It was disconcerting. It was wonderful. Beautiful, amazing, incredible, Anto didn’t have words to describe it. Steve was baring his teeth again, clearly pleased.

It was clearly some kind of magic to be able to capture a spirit like this, Anto thought. That was what the clan would say. That was what Jhrvis would say. And yet, he could see how Steve used the blade to scrape the lines into the bone. It would have required skill, concentration, and a strong hand, but he could see how the slashes were made to slowly form the image. It was both simple and extraordinary. Did the Others decorate everything like this? Did they try to bring the animal’s spirit close this way? On a hunting weapon, Anto could understand it, but you didn’t hunt cave lions, and this wasn’t a weapon, just a discarded bone Anto had cobbled together to make the man’s splint. 

It made no sense. It just…was. For no purpose. Except to show skill, Anto supposed, and effort. But, why would Steve do such a thing and then give it to him? Some kind of gift-giving ritual, perhaps? Though, Steve didn’t seem to be waiting expectantly for anything. He just looked…happy. As if he was genuinely pleased that Anto seemed to like it. It must be because Anto helped heal his leg. That was the only explanation that made sense. The Others must not have healers, whose job it was to help, so perhaps some kind of exchange was expected, but this was far too much. Far too beautiful for someone like him.

He should hide it, with the grass-bear and basket and his other, secret things. The thought flitted across his mind to wonder what Steve would think if Anto showed him his cache, though he discarded the thought almost immediately. He couldn’t take that chance. He didn’t want to hide the bone-lion, though. He wanted to be able to look at it from time to time. It was stupid and risky, he knew, but Steve would leave and…Anto wanted to keep this close. He would put it into his medicine bag, he decided, where he knew no one would ever look. The medicine bag belonged only to a healer. It wouldn’t occur to anyone to look in it. They would never have a reason to and wouldn’t know what to do if they did. 

Anto sighed. He wanted to be where people made beautiful things for no reason and didn’t hide them. Where they made happy noises when something was funny and had eyes that leaked when they were sad. But, the man didn’t want him, and certainly wouldn’t want to take Anto with him, and there would probably not be a child of this man’s spirit in his womb when the man left, though he thought Steve’s spirit might be strong enough even for his unnaturally strong one. Maybe, though, Steve would teach him his words before he left, so Anto could find his people one day and be able to talk to them and tell them that he was one of them. That he had been lost. But, he was home now. If he had words, he could tell them that.

Anto clutched the bone to his chest, then dropped to his knees so he could properly express his gratitude. _This Omega is not worthy of this Alpha, but this Alpha has acknowledged this Omega, and this Omega would say thank you to this Alpha for his gift_ , Anto signed using the formal Clan ceremonial language, his hands and body moving as one in silent speech. _This Omega would say that this Omega is glad this Alpha is healed. This Omega would say this Alpha does not owe this Omega anything, but this Omega is grateful for this gift and will treasure it when this Alpha has left. This Omega would tell this Alpha that this Omega is sorry this Alpha suffered, but this Omega is very honored the Great Bear sent this Alpha to this Omega. This Omega would say that this Omega will miss this Alpha very much when this Alpha is gone. This Omega hopes this Alpha remembers this Omega well and thinks sometimes of this Omega, for this Omega will think about this Alpha for the rest of this Omega’s life._

When Anto looked up, Steve was watching him with his mouth slightly open, his jaw slack, his eyes wide and bright. He said something that Anto didn’t understand, then, to Anto’s complete shock, knelt down in front of him and took Anto’s hand that was clutching the bone-lion into his own. 

“Good,” Steve said, though this time, it sounded different. Breathy and strained and almost like the way Anto remembered the chants changing when Jhrvis came out in his bear-skin when he was Mog-Ur. Steve raised Anto’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to Anto’s knuckles. Anto jerked his hand back, then stared down at his knuckles in confusion. His hand felt warm. He felt warm. His skin tingled where Steve’s lips had been. He swallowed, or tried to. His throat was dry. He was staring at Steve again. Rude, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Finally, he shook himself, trying to clear his head, and looked down at his hand, where it curled around the bone-lion. Maybe if the Others made bone-lions and grass-bears and beautiful baskets, maybe they would make other things, too. Maybe they would let him make the things in his head. Maybe they would let him see how high the counting sticks could go. Maybe they wouldn’t be afraid if he didn’t need the counting sticks.

He needed words. Steve had words. Steve didn’t want him, but he did seem to like Anto well enough, and it would still be a bit of time before Steve could leave on that leg. He just…needed to figure out how to ask.

Slowly, Anto tapped at the lion, then pointed at Steve. Steve’s mouth turned down and his brow drew together in wrinkly lines. Anto couldn’t help stare at it for a moment, then mimicked him and felt his own brow. It, too, felt wrinkly. No wonder the clan thought he looked odd, he thought, blinking at Steve. Tapping the lion, he pointed at Steve again. “Seev,” Anto said.

“Steve,” Steve corrected, thumping his chest. He pointed at Anto and spread his hands wide, raising his eyebrows. It’s a question, Anto thought. He wants to know my name.

“This Omega is called Anto, who is not mated, healer of the Clan of the Cave Bear, adopted son of Maara, who was also healer, who is the child of Amma, who was mated to Ute, and Jhrvis, who is mog-ur and Mog-Ur, who is child of Isa, who was mated to Lhar,” Anto told him in the Clan language. 

Steve stared at him and blinked slowly. “Toh—Toha?” Steve stammered, his face screwing up as he tried to form the unfamiliar word. It sounded strange to hear his name, or part of it, come out of Steve’s mouth. Foreign-sounding and odd. Steve tried again, but couldn’t seem to quite get the way the sounds sort of swallowed in on themselves when Clan said it. 

“Toah, Tonah?” Steve said, then shook his head. “Tony?”

Anto nodded. It was close enough. “Gud,” he said. Steve bared his teeth at him again. Anto pointed at the lion, then back at Steve. “Seev,” he said. 

“Steve,” Steve said. 

“Steeeeev,” Anto repeated, earning an expression of delight from Steve, then tapped his own chest where his own scar marred his flesh, though Steve couldn’t see it. “Tony.” Steve nodded. Anto pointed at the lion and waited.

“Oh. Lion,” Steve told him. Anto picked up a rock and held it out in front of him. “Rock,” Steve said. He was baring his teeth again and nodding, making more of his words that Tony didn’t understand. 

“Lon, ruck, Steeev, Tony,” Anto repeated. He got up and rushed over to the cave, coming out with a stick, a bowl and a basket. Steve seemed to get the idea quickly enough, and set about it with an enthusiasm that surprised Anto. It also helped Steve get moving more, which was good for his leg, though Anto refused to think about that and by the time the sun was setting, Anto knew the words for everything around the cave. 

Tree, grass, stream, fire, log, which was somehow different from tree because it was on the ground, but also the same as tree and also sometimes the same as branch, which Anto found endlessly frustrating. There were so many words, it was amazing. Steve seemed surprised that Anto could remember them all, but he had honed his memory from childhood to only be told once, so he wouldn’t be considered so slow compared to the others. 

They spent most days like that, with Anto bringing what he could to the cave to learn the words, and Steve sometimes drawing things in the dirt with a sharp stick, something which had initially bothered Anto so much he had smeared the image of a bird away before Steve even finished. Once he saw what Steve was doing, though, he immediately saw the benefit of it. Steve could tell him the names of things that weren’t even here to see, things that didn’t exist in Tony’s world, like the massive, long fish that Steve said was a sturgeon and lived in something called the Great Mother River and was hunted by people in boats called canoes that seemed to Tony to look a lot like the fish itself. 

Idly, he drew a line in dirt connecting two of the canoes Steve had drawn, then another and another. When he looked up, Steve was watching him with an odd look, so he wiped the drawing away and asked Steve the name of a plant he already knew was a dandelion. Steve answered, and Anto bared his teeth at him, making Steve nearly trip over his own feet in surprise, though as soon as he recovered, he made a whooping sound and picked Anto up off the ground to twirl him in the air, before setting him back down while Anto’s head still spun. 

Anto learned this was a smile, though it, too, had other names sometimes, and it meant that you were happy about something, and the opposite was a frown, which meant you were sad or upset or angry. When Anto tried to make the faces Steve made, the noise Steve made was a laugh. Anto laughed too, as much as he could. He wasn’t sure when he would be able to laugh again, and it was the most wonderful feeling, except the times when Steve laughed with him, which were better somehow. 

Sometimes, Steve told him stories about his home, though Anto didn’t understand it all. He listened, though. It helped with the words, to listen, and he just liked hearing Steve talk. Once, he pointed at Steve’s amulet, and Steve explained that it was his symbol, and that everyone was given one when they went through their coming of age ceremony, and it was how they would find the people they loved in the next world, when they may look different. Anto wished he had a symbol, but at least he would know to look for Steve’s, if that was how the spirit-world worked, though he thought he would know Steve, even without a symbol. He would just know. Maybe there were so many Others, they couldn’t remember each other, he allowed. He would remember Steve, though. He wondered if Steve would remember him. If Steve even wanted to remember him. He didn’t try to ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

Steve asked him what it was like back in the camp, if he was happy, and Anto told him he was, that Clan was family, and he had an Alpha, and maybe one day, they would mate. This was called a lie, he had learned, and it was a bad thing that could sometimes be a good thing, Steve had tried to explain. It didn’t make sense to Anto, but he decided this was a good lie, because it made Steve smile to hear it, though it was a soft, wistful smile that almost looked sad to Anto, though that didn’t make any sense. Smiles were because you were happy, after all. Steve had said so.

Sometimes, when he didn’t have the words, Anto would tell Steve things in the Clan language, and Steve would watch him so intently, it was almost disconcerting. Sometimes, Anto would notice that Steve had need, but he ignored it, as best he could. It stung, true, but Steve was a good man, and he couldn’t help that Anto was a big, ugly Omega who no one wanted, except Tyber, and only then because he hated Anto and knew Anto didn’t like it. Now, though, he could just let it happen. He could close his eyes think of Steve and his words and the way he smiled. His easy acquiescence and lack of reaction seemed to enrage Tyber all the more, but Anto didn’t let it matter. Not anymore. He would leave one of these days, go to some place where people were kind, like Steve, even if he was big and ugly and slow-minded. They would teach him more words, and maybe, he could build things like the canoes joined together that Steve said would work, as if Anto didn’t know it would work.

The times he could slip away to Steve were the best parts of his days, though he could see them slowly slipping towards an end. Even Steve was more withdrawn lately, lacking the usual excitement he seemed to share for Anto’s ever-expanding vocabulary, Anto thought as he walked back towards the cave, winding his way through the thicket of trees. Absently, he reached out and plucked a mushroom off the trunk of a tree and shoved it into his medicine bag. It didn’t have any healing properties, but Jhrvis liked the taste of them when cooked with rabbit or quail. Maybe he would make that tonight for dinner. He could bring Steve some and they could share the meal, as they had done a few times. Steve liked to eat, Anto had noticed.

Steve would need food for the Journey, Anto thought, and began thinking of what he could send. Tyber wouldn’t let him give Steve much, but surely he could set aside something, if he started now, Anto thought. The strips of deer meat, maybe, and the salted fish, he thought. He was so engrossed in thinking through the stores they had available that he almost didn’t hear the raised voices until he was nearly on top of them. 

Tyber was there in the clearing in front of the mouth of the cave, where it looked like everything inside had been tossed out onto the ground. He had a long spear in one hand. Several of the other men surrounded him, each armed with spears or thick clubs, and in front of them, with his back to Anto, Steve stood, looming over all of them. His hands were out in front of him, palms up, clearly trying to show he wasn’t a threat while Tyber yelled and shook his fist at him. There was something Anto couldn’t see clenched in Tyber’s hand. 

Tyber feinted forward, making a chuffing-growling sound that Anto recognized as challenge, though Steve didn’t seem to. Instead, he just crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full height and stood there, not answering Tyber’s aggression, but not exactly backing down, either. 

“Abomination,” Tyber signed with a snarl, pointing at Steve. “Didn’t I tell you? I knew this would lead to ruin. He is Other. They are evil. Dangerous. Everyone knows this. They kill our kind, and we should have done the same to him when we found him! He is the reason for all the bad luck. Why we haven’t had any good hunts and why the fish are gone. He draws their spirits here, to him, and seeks to do the same to our Omegas. See what he has done to Anto already? He has taken his spirit and put it in this—this _thing_!” Tyber finished with a growl. He threw something at Steve’s feet, which Steve bent down and picked up, tucking it into one of the pouches at his waist.

Of course, Steve couldn’t understand any of that. Not that he would have a good answer, even if he did. The truth was, they hadn’t had many good hunts lately because Tyber wasn’t a particularly good hunter, but insisted on leading the hunting party anyway, and the fish weren’t gone, just faster and more clever than Tyber, but Anto suspected that blaming the Other in their midst was a lot easier than admitting to those failings, though he knew, without quite knowing how he knew, that what Tyber was really upset about was that Anto had not been himself lately, and he blamed Steve for this. Which…wasn’t entirely wrong, though Anto couldn’t let Tyber know that, not if he wanted to get Steve out of here alive.

He’ll have to leave. Now, Anto realized with a start. Whatever sway Jhrvis held, it had clearly reached its limit by the looks of the band of young men who were with Tyber. It wasn’t safe for Steve to be here anymore. Even if Anto could somehow explain away whatever it was that upset Tyber, it would just be something else tomorrow. No. It was best for Steve to go now. A deep ache settled in his chest, seeping coldness down into his gut. Steve would leave him. This was it. I’ll never see him again, Anto thought with a jolt of pain that stabbed at his heart and coiled around it, seeming to squeeze it with an invisible hand. 

“It’s just a carving,” Steve was saying, though Tony could hear the frustration in his voice and tell by the way he was saying it and the annoyance held in his posture that it wasn’t the first time he had said it. Not that Tyber and the others could understand. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’ll leave,” Steve said. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll leave.”

He was holding his hands up again, palms out, backing away slowly, clearly trying to calm Tyber down, but Tyber was having none of it. Tyber pointed the spear at Steve’s chest and pressed the tip deep enough to nick, though Steve just shoved it away with a sharp shout, more of surprise than pain, Anto thought. Tyber looked even more surprised than Steve by the reaction. He grunted and regripped the spear with both hands, all pretense of a warning gone. The others followed suit, raising their clubs and spears and chuffing loudly. 

Anto’s stomach sank. Whatever he had told the other men, Tyber hadn’t come out here to drive Steve away. He had come out here for violence. Anto knew him far too well not to recognize it in the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes brimmed with excitement, how his hands curled into fists around the spear until the knuckles were white and his body couldn’t seem to keep still, constantly pressing forward, then back, in and out of Steve’s space with the spear at the ready. One hard, sharp thrust to a vulnerable spot was all it would take, and he didn’t even need to be in arm’s reach of Steve to do it. There would be nothing Anto could do, not for a wound like that.

And Steve was…not moving. Certainly not running, like anyone else would be, though Clan were surprisingly fast and agile. Instead, he was backing away, slowly, almost unconcernedly. He turned, presenting his back to Tyber and the men and started walking deliberately away. Not hurrying, but not tarrying, either. Then he raised his eyes and caught sight of Anto. He stopped. Even from the distance, Anto saw his eyes go wide and his mouth open, as if he was going to call out, then thought better of it. His jaw tightened, and he slowly turned back around, widening his stance and lowering his weight, until he was nearly balanced on the balls of his feet.

Fighting stance, Anto recognized. He’s going to fight them. Why? Stupid, stupid man. What was he doing? He was going to get himself killed, that was what he was doing. There were five of them and one of him, and they had weapons, and Steve didn’t. They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him and make Anto watch, he realized, watching as Tyber’s gaze found him across the clearing. This was his punishment, Anto suddenly understood. Steve was going to die because of him.

He couldn’t let that happen. Desperation welled up inside him. He ran forward, ignoring Steve’s shout, and dropped to his knees in front of Tyber. Head bowed, he waited, breath coming in pants. He could hear them shuffling about, and could almost feel Steve’s eyes on him, boring into his back, though he hadn’t come any closer, thankfully. Finally, Anto felt the familiar tap on his shoulder.

“This Omega would apologize to this Alpha for this Omega’s disrespect and disobedience,” Anto signed. “This Omega is not controlled by this man of the Others. This Omega’s failures are this Omega’s fault, because this Omega is slow to learn, as this Alpha knows. This man of the Others was very sick. Near death. This Omega’s duty as healer was to help this man of the Others, but he is well now, and this man of the Others should go so that this Omega may not be so distracted and may try to be a good Omega for this Alpha.”

“Tony,” Steve said from behind him. “Step behind me.”

Anto looked up at Tyber, his eyes pleading. “I’ll be good,” he signed. “I promise. Please. Please let him go. Don’t hurt him. I’ll be good, I swear it, Tyber, please.”

“Huh,” Tyber grunted. He looked up at Steve. Anto didn’t dare look behind him. “Fine. He can go. I’ll deal with you later.” Anto bowed his head. At least Steve would be okay.

“Tony,” Steve said again, his voice low and urgent. “Tony, get up. Slowly. Get behind me. Tony, please. Please listen to me. To—”

“Go!” Tony hissed, turning to look at Steve, before quickly bowing his head again, but it was too late. Tyber had heard him speak the word of the Others. He expected it, braced himself, but it still hurt when Tyber grabbed him by the hair and shook him so hard he thought he would come apart. His medicine bag slipped off his shoulder and landed in his lap. My bag, he thought, just as Tyber’s fist smashed against his jaw. He flew sideways, sprawling on the ground. Someone shouted. His ears were ringing too much to hear what it was. His medicine bag landed next to him, the contents spilling onto the ground. All his pouches, with their carefully done knots so he would know what was in them by sight and touch, emptied onto the ground.

So did the bone-lion. 

He gaped at it for a moment, then scrambled for it, trying to shove it back into his bag, but it was too late. 

“What is this? WHAT IS THIS?” Tyber demanded, scooping up the bone-lion and holding it out for the others to see. “You see? You see? Look at this—this talisman he keeps! He _is_ being controlled. He is! I told you!” he growled, looking down at Anto and raising his fist again. “You lying, little—”

“No,” Steve said, catching Tyber’s fist in his hand before it could land. Where—where had he come from, Anto wondered, looking over his shoulder at the space where Steve had been. 

“Steve. Go, please. Go. Please. Steve, _please_ ,” Tony begged. They were going to kill him. This was what Tyber wanted. They were going to—oh. 

Steve twisted around and slammed his elbow into Tyber’s mouth, then grabbed the spear and shoved it backwards into the stomach of one of the other men. Everything seemed to happen at once, at least to Anto’s eyes. Tyber grabbed at his mouth, where blood gushed like a stream and stumbled backwards in shock. Steve punched him in the nose. There was a sickening cracking sound, then he followed it up with a kick to Tyber’s gut, sending him into the dirt, where he groaned once, then seemed to crumble and sag, going still. 

Two other men rushed forward at Steve, spears raised in front of them. Somehow, they ended up in the dirt, too, their spears flung aside. It all happened so fast. Durk, who had once spent an afternoon watching Anto build a tower out of sticks and rocks, raised his club, which Steve caught easily, twisted it out of Durk’s hand and then proceeded to smash it against the side of Durk’s head. Durk fell to the ground with an almost comical expression of surprise. Crum tried to jab his spear at Steve’s side, only to have it broken in half and the pieces used to batter him until he fled into the forest. The whole thing seemed to be over before it started. 

Anto stared at the pile of prone bodies at Steve’s feet, then looked up at Steve. Clan Alphas sometimes brawled, sure, but he had never seen anything quite like this. He suspected neither had Tyber. Steve fought with purpose. There was skill to his movements. Deliberation. Familiarity. He knew what he was doing in a way that Tyber and his friends never could. They didn’t have the Memories for it. The Clan will be gone one day, he thought to himself, with a sweeping sort of sadness that came with certainty. Maybe that was why they hated the Others so much. Why Tyber hated him. Maybe they knew it, too.

Steve looked down at him, his chest heaving, a line of blood dripping down his chest where Tyber’s spear had nicked him. “I told you to get behind me.”

“I say go,” Anto pointed out. “You no go.”

Steve smiled, let out a small laugh, and dropped the pieces of spear. He dropped down next to Anto. “That is true, I guess. I couldn’t go without seeing you again,” he said, brushing Anto’s hair to the side and gently pressing his fingers to the place where Anto’s jaw was slowly swelling from Tyber’s fist. “It’s not safe for you to stay here. Not now. You have to see that, Tony,” Steve was saying, his voice low and urgent. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t expect anything, if you didn’t want to, but…I can’t just leave you here. Not now. If you don’t want to go with me, if there’s somewhere else you can go, some other camp, or…I don’t know, I could take you there, I guess...”

Anto looked up at him in surprise. “I go?” he asked. “I go with Steve?”

“If—if you want,” Steve said. “I would like that very much. But, we—we should go. We should go. Now. Before they come to.” He pulled Anto up with him, dusting the dirt off both of them, before looking around. Anto bent down to clean up the remnants of his medicine bag. He couldn’t leave it. Steve grabbed some of the items that had been thrown from the cave. Anto saw him scoop up a small pack, what was left of a tent, a bedroll, a water bag and some of the food that he could salvage.

“Steve stay,” Anto told Steve, then ran to the edge of the clearing across from the cave and disappeared into the forest as Steve called out to him. He stopped by a rotted tree stump, the one that sometimes looked like a bear, if you looked at it right, and reached into the deep hollow underneath it, pulling out a small bag. He checked inside it. Everything was there. A surge of relief filled him. This was it. He was going. Maybe not as Steve’s Omega, but he would find the Others. His people. Who laughed and cried and made beautiful things. He rushed back to the clearing, where Steve was waiting with his hands on his hips.

“There you are,” Steve said. His voice was shaking. “I thought you’d left.” Anto held up his bag. “That’s your stuff?” Steve asked. Anto nodded.

“Bad things,” Anto told him. “Tony make bad things. Hide bad things.”

Steve looked at him with a frown, then his face split into a smile. “Of course, you have a stash of things you’re not supposed to have. What did you make that’s so bad?”

Anto didn’t know how to explain it, so he walked over and opened the bag for Steve. Inside was the basket Steve had made, with its grass-bear inside, a bone splinter shaped into a hook that Anto thought he would string on a small rope and hang from a pole to catch fish, if he baited it, a small corner of one of Maara’s sleeping furs, and his spear-thrower, which was what had gotten him banished all those summers ago, even though it worked, and worked far better than Clan spears, but he was Omega and Omegas didn’t use weapons, much less create them. He watched Steve carefully, wondering what Steve would think. He didn’t know if he could give up these things, even for Steve. If Steve told him he had to leave it behind, that he couldn’t make these things, that it was wrong, that he was wrong, he thought he might just sit down and sob.

Steve picked up the spear-thrower and turned it over in his hand, then picked up one of the small spears and, after a few tries, got it notched in place and pulled back on the string until it was taut. “You made this?” Steve asked. Anto nodded.

“Make spear go far,” Anto explained. 

“Yeah…yeah, I can see that,” Steve replied, staring down at the spear-thrower.

“Even for Tony,” Anto added, watching Steve’s face with an intense focus. He had just admitted to building and using a weapon, after all.

“I’ll bet,” Steve replied. “You’ll have to show me.” He huffed out a bit of a laugh. He handed the spear-thrower back to Anto and went back to stuffing various things into his pack. 

Anto stared dumbly at him. He looked down at the spear-thrower in his hand. That was…it? “Tony things…Tony things good?”

Steve stopped what he was doing, and turned back to Anto. His face did that thing where it went soft and relaxed that Anto liked. It was a good face. “Yeah. Yeah, those are good things, Tony. You make good things. Amazing things. We need to go,” he added, as one of the men on the ground groaned and rolled slightly to the side. 

“Tony make good things,” Tony repeated. He eyed Steve, then beamed a bright smile at him. “Tony make good things.”

“Tony makes very good things,” Steve agreed. He hefted his pack onto his shoulders and bent down to pick up the spear that wasn’t broken. “Ready to go?”

“Tony go with Steve,” Anto nodded. He adjusted his medicine bag, pulled the sack over his shoulder and fell into step next to Steve. 

They were both quiet for a long time as they walked. Steve’s leg still wasn’t fully healed, so he couldn’t keep up a brisk pace, and kept looking back over his shoulder. Anto wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to worry. Anto wasn’t someone the clan would chase down. He wished he’d had the chance to say goodbye to Jhrvis, though, but he somehow thought Jhrvis wouldn’t be surprised to find him gone with this man of the Others who bore the same mark of the cave bear that he did. 

“I know you said you were happy here, but…” Steve said after a while. Anto frowned. That hadn’t been exactly a lie or exactly the truth. He didn’t know what the word for that was. “That man back there—is he your Alpha?” Steve asked.

“Tyber Alpha. No mate,” Anto said. “Tyber no—no good.”

“Yeah. I figured that out on my own,” Steve said, his brow furrowing and mouth dipping into a frown. Frown means sad or upset, Anto thought to himself. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem for you. It was just a carving. It’s---that’s what I do. I’m a carver by trade. I didn’t mean—well. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I was leaving, and…I wanted something to have of you to take with me. That’s no excuse. We don’t---we’re not supposed to put faces on them. I know that. But, I thought, if I left this for you,” he continued, tugging his amulet from around his neck, “then you would have part of me, too, so it would be okay, maybe,” he said, pulling whatever it was that Tyber had thrown at him out of the pouch at his waist. “It was rude and stupid, I know, I should have asked first. Or just not done it, I don’t know. Bucky always said I—I did things without thinking sometimes. I just didn’t want to leave without—without something of you to take with me.”

In Steve’s hand was a small, stone figure. It had just the suggestion of a body. Smooth arms and rounded buttocks and legs. But the face was close enough to what Anto remembered from the still waters the last time he had dared to look that he could recognize himself in the likeness.

“Me?” Anto said, staring in fascination at the stone figure. “For me?” he asked, pointing at the amulet.

“Yes,” Steve said, slowing down as they walked. “I’d still like you to have it, I guess. You don’t have one, and that way, I could—I mean. People could find you. And, I don’t really need it. There’s no one who would—who…I’d just like you to have it. But, I should probably give you this, too,” he said, handing the amulet and small figure to Anto. “It isn’t right that I keep it when you’re not my…when I’m not, I mean…I just shouldn’t have made it. I can’t destroy it, though, so—so you should have it.”

“Why Tony? Why make Tony?” Anto asked. He could hear the confusion in his own voice. “Steve no want Tony,” Anto reminded him in a rough whisper, blinking back the sting in his eyes. 

“What?” Steve said, drawing back in surprise. “What do you mean I don’t want you? Why would you—why would you think that? You said you were happy here, this was your place, your family—you said you had an Alpha and were going to be mated, so I kept my distance, yes, but how could you think I didn’t want you? You’re…Tony, you’re _incredible_.”

“Don’t know een—en--krebleh. Steve need Omega. No want Tony,” Anto said. He looked down at his feet, his face burning with shame. He didn’t want to have to say it, not again. It hurt too much.

“What are you talking about?” Steve demanded, his voice going high with surprise and confusion.

Anto sighed and swiped his hand at the corners of his eyes. They were leaking again. Weak eyes. He hated them sometimes. “Steve need,” he said, pointing at Steve’s groin for emphasis. “Tony there. Steve no signal. Tony big and ugly. Big, ugly, stupid Omega.”

“Tony—what??? What are you—wait. You mean, there’s…there’s some kind of signal that I could…and you would…” Steve’s voice trailed off. He looked off towards the swath of trees in front of them. “Just like that. Just—just like that. Wow.”

“Tony Omega. Steve Alpha. Alpha need Omega. Alpha signal,” Anto explained. 

“Is that—is that what he did?” Steve asked. His voice was soft, careful, almost sad. Anto nodded, then looked away.

“Alpha need, Alpha make signal. Is good. Good Omega. Maybe baby for good Omega. Baby good,” Anto explained. “Ty make signal, no need, no want, want…want bad, want hurt—” he broke off.

He didn’t have the words. He felt Steve’s arm come up to wrap around him and found himself pressed against Steve’s side. Steve’s chest was rumbling. It was a growl, Anto realized. He breathed in Steve’s scent. It was heavy with musk and sweat and something primal that went directly to heat Anto’s belly. That was nice. He thought maybe Steve understood, even if he didn’t have the words. Steve had slowed to almost a stop, he realized, looking up from under the curve of Steve’s arm. His head was turned to look behind him. His muscles were straining, making Anto think of the string on his spear-thrower, pulled back and ready to launch. Anto stretched out his neck and butted his head against Steve’s side to get his attention. It seemed to work. Steve blinked down at him, his eyes dark and wide and jaw set so hard that Anto could see a muscle pulse and almost hear his teeth grinding. It should be terrifying, probably, but there was something strangely reassuring about Steve’s sudden reaction.

“I’m sorry, Tony. That’s not what it is supposed to be like,” Steve said after a long pause. His voice wasn’t quite steady, and Anto could see him struggling to get the words out. He rubbed his nose up against Steve’s side again. Steve made a humming-huffing sound that Anto liked, and he felt Steve relax slightly against him. His pace picked up again, and his eyes were on the path in front of them. “For us, sharing Pleasures is an honor to the Mother. It is something She gave to her Children. It is beautiful and special. A gift. It should feel wonderful. She made Alphas to be able to make Omegas feel good, and sometimes, She will take part of the Alpha’s essence and use it to make a child with the Omega. The more an Alpha honors Her, the more likely She will choose to use the Alpha’s essence. What you are talking about—there is no honor in what he did to you.”

“Clan way. No bad. Ty make bad,” Anto tried to explain. It was frustrating, not having all the words. He wanted to tell Steve that the other Omegas often seemed to enjoy it. That they preened and bared their necks for their favorite Alphas. That they didn’t mind if some Alpha truly had need. It was like sharing anything else, and the clan had to share to survive. It was Tyber who used it to hurt and humiliate. But, he remembered Maara teasing her mate and how he would sometimes bring her a handful of the big, red berries she liked, slipped the choicest bits of meat from his portion to her, and stayed with her when her baby went back to the spirit world. 

“I didn’t know you had a signal,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t want you. Of course, I want you, Tony,” he said with a matter-of-factness that made Anto almost miss what he had said. As soon as he caught it, he nearly tripped over a root, and Steve had to catch him as he almost stumbled.

“Steve want Tony?” Anto asked, a spark of hope lighting in his chest. That couldn’t be right, though. That couldn’t. Anto was big and ugly and stupid. Everyone said so. Well. Not everyone. At least, not since they were children. Now, it was mostly Tyber who said those things. 

“Yes, very much,” Steve insisted. He cleared his throat. “I, ah, I want you very much. I don’t know where you got this idea that you are—what did you say? Big, ugly and stupid? That’s…that’s so…I don’t know how you could ever think—or think that I would think—Tony, do you know how fast you learned a completely new language? Look at how good you are with healing! Even our healers back home don’t know your techniques. Sewing my leg together? No one has ever done that. Not that I know of, anyway, and I’ve traveled from one end of the Great Mother River to the other. As for big,” he began, pulling Anto against his side and looking down at him. “Who’s big now? Hmm?”

“Steve big,” Anto whispered, glancing up at Steve before quickly looking away. 

“Right. And even if you were big, it wouldn’t matter. When I was young, I was smaller than you, believe it or not,” Steve told him.

“That lie,” Anto said with a frown. “Steve make joke.”

“No, no lie. No joke. I swear, I was scrawny,” Steve insisted, smiling broadly. Anto eyed him for a long moment, unable to be sure if he was serious or if this was some strange trick of the Others’ language that he hadn’t worked out yet. “And you are definitely not ugly. Not—not at all. You’re…I mean, it didn’t even occur to me that you would think that, but, ah. I can see how you would be different to look at for…what did you call them? Clan? They look, they are—they are very different. To my eyes. But, I promise you, you are…you are one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen, Tony. I swear by the Mother. You are gorgeous. I can’t believe you’d ever think—and there is just this signal and you would…” he stopped, shaking his head. “What—what is the signal?” Steve asked, drawing back and tilting his head to the side in curiosity. 

Anto knew the signal, of course, but he had never actually done it. The signal was for Alphas. But, Steve had asked him a direct question, and he couldn’t really not answer, so he made the signal with his hands, flushing a bit with embarrassment as he did. Steve watched him, then repeated the motion.

It was—it was just too ingrained not to respond. He knew Steve hadn’t quite meant it like that, but an Alpha had given the signal. He had to comply. He twisted out of Steve’s arm, dropped his sack, sank to the ground until he was on all fours, then bent his chest down to the ground, all in one fluid motion. He lifted his shift up and presented.

The air was cool against his skin. He heard the thud of Steve’s pack hit the ground, then the crush of grass as Steve sank to his knees behind him. He hadn’t thought that Steve would—he hadn’t thought at all, not really. Steve had given the signal, and he had complied, but now, with Steve behind him, Steve, who didn’t think he was big or ugly or stupid, Steve who made him laugh and taught him words and made beautiful things for him, who punched Tyber and said that was wrong, what Tyber did, who let Anto calm him, the way Omegas were supposed to, and there was something called Pleasures, and it could be good…he wouldn’t mind, if Steve wanted to. Better than not mind. He wanted to know what it meant, this sharing Pleasures.

He felt Steve’s hand, warm and hesitant, settle on his hip. A rush of slick leaked out, dripping down from his exposed hole. He couldn’t help it. Steve was near, and he had given the signal, and Anto wanted, desperately, he wanted. 

“Oh,” Steve breathed out. His voice sounded oddly strained. Anto chanced a look behind him. Steve was staring down at him, eyes wide and dark, mouth hanging slack, one hand hovering in the air between them. “We---ah. We,” Steve mumbled, wiping his hand over his brow, then reaching down to pull Anto’s shift down. “We can’t. We—we should go. We should—we need, ah. We need to—to--” he stopped and stared blankly at Anto.

“Go?” Anto suggested. 

“Yes. Yes, go. We need to go,” Steve repeated, standing up and helping Anto to his feet. His hands kept running up and down Anto’s arms, his sides, his shoulders, just touching. It was nice. Even as Steve picked up his pack, his hand caught on Anto’s fingers and squeezed. Steve ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes, then petted the top of Anto’s head and pulled him into his chest, breathing deeply into the crook of Anto’s neck. 

He pulled back and looked down at Anto for a long moment. It was still strange to Anto how much the Others seemed to look at each other. For Clan, it was rude for Omega to look at Alpha like this, but Steve seemed to like to look at him, and Anto liked looking at Steve, so he thought, maybe it would be okay, though only with Steve, he thought. He dropped his eyes to Steve’s chest, only to have Steve lift his chin up with the curve of his hand. He blinked up at Steve, watching Steve’s dark eyes as they seemed to search his face. He felt Steve’s hand leave his chin to cradle the back of his head, fingers massaging at the base of his neck until Anto shivered.

“We need to go,” Steve murmured, then leaned down and pressed his mouth to Anto’s. Anto would have pulled back in surprise had Steve not been cupping his head, but then he felt Steve’s lips, soft and gentle, nudge his own apart, and Steve’s tongue slide along the seam. Anto gasped in shock and then Steve’s tongue slipped inside his mouth, curling against his own. It was—it was like nothing he had felt before. Hot and sweet, an invasion that felt like a gift, Steve’s mouth moved over his, his tongue delving in and out of Anto’s mouth, sweeping against his, then drawing back, until Anto tentatively touched his tongue to the part of Steve’s lips. Steve growled low in his throat and his mouth angled over Anto’s, hot and demanding. Anto’s eyes fell closed, and he let out a low moan, his body going boneless as he sank against Steve. Pleasure exploded in his body, a deep, aching well of need and joy, the sense of being overwhelmed and wanting more. He touched his tongue to Steve’s lips again, then slowly pressed inside Steve’s mouth. He tasted like salt and ripe berries and Steve. It was glorious. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Steve’s mouth working over his, insistent and encouraging. He was too lost in the sensation to care.

Finally, Steve pulled away. He still had one hand cupping Anto’s head, but the other was wrapped around Anto’s waist, apparently holding him up, since Anto’s legs didn’t seem to be working as far as he could tell. Steve smiled at him, wide and open.

"What name mouth-on-mouth?" Anto asked, rubbing his lips together and trying to capture the warm, tingling senesation. 

“Kiss. That's called a kiss," Steve told him. "That’s my signal."

“Oh,” Anto said weakly. “Signal good," Anto grinned, then laughed a bit, flushing with embarrassment. 

Steve’s smile widened. He helped Anto get to righted and got his pack back on properly. Anto’s hands were shaking. He couldn’t seem to make his body cooperate, and Steve kept touching him, just little, light caresses, but each one filled his head with some kind of warm, happy, dazed feeling, and he couldn’t seem to stop smiling, sometimes letting out a breathy chuckle for no reason, though Steve didn’t seem to mind. Steve took his amulet from where Anto clutched it in his hand and placed it over Anto’s head, so the round, flat disc hung at the center of Anto’s chest.

“Looks good on you,” Steve said. Anto lifted it up and held it for a moment, studying it. Steve cleared his throat. “We’ll get you one of your own, if you want. But, I’d, ah. I’d like you to wear that one. If you would.” Anto nodded. He would get his own and give that to Steve, so they could find each other, if Steve was right, but he wanted to tell Steve he needn’t worry. Their spirits were connected. The Great Bear herself had marked them both, chosen them, and they would always find each other, in this life or whatever came after.

Anto was reaching for his sack when he heard them. They were good at walking quietly through the brush, and communication that didn’t rely on making noises for the most helped with that, but Anto was as much Clan as he was Other, and he could tell when Clan were there. He wasn’t sure how many. More than before. Crum had run off. Perhaps he had found reinforcements, Anto didn’t know. No one should care if he left, not enough to chase after him. That wasn’t something Clan did, but then again, no one ever left. Tyber hated him enough to chase after him, though, he supposed. He hadn’t counted on Tyber’s hate, only indifference, but he thought maybe there had always been something other than indifference there. They would kill Steve, and Tyber would drag him back and punish him in front of the whole clan and give him the signal, and it would hurt, and Anto would hate it, and Tyber would have what he wanted. 

“Ty,” Anto warned, his voice low. Steve turned and scanned the forest. 

“Where? I don’t hear—” Steve began, then stopped. He looked over at Anto, then down at his leg. “Run,” Steve ordered. “As fast as you can. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Follow the Great Mother River until you find people. Show them that,” he said, pointing at the amulet that now hung from Anto’s neck.

“Tony stay,” Anto insisted, jutting out his chin. 

“Tony, please, there isn’t time,” Steve pleaded. “Please, just go!”

“Tony stay,” Anto repeated. “Steve stay. Tony stay. Good.”

“Tony—” Steve started, then broke off as Tyber stepped into view from behind a large tree. Other clan Alphas appeared, too. The ones from the clearing, Tony saw, except Durk, and more still from the camp, all holding spears or other weapons. Steve looked over at Anto, then shoved him behind him, apparently having decided that telling him wasn’t sufficient. He turned his neck and looked down at him, his eyes wide with fear. Not for himself or of the clan men, Anto knew. He didn’t want Anto hurt. Anto was beginning to understand that Steve had other signals, signals he didn’t always understand, but run and get behind me and take my amulet and eenkrdbell meant things that Anto wanted, more than anything. Things he didn’t have words for, but he knew them. He felt the same way for Steve.

Anto reached down and picked up his sack. He pulled out the spear-thrower and nocked one of the small, sharp-tipped spears. He stepped around Steve, ducking the hand that shot out to stop him, and pointed it at Tyber. 

“Stop,” Anto ordered in Clan.

Tyber, to his credit, ground to an abrupt halt. So did everyone else. They knew what this could do. Before his banishment, Jhrvis had insisted he demonstrate his skill with it. He had thought, at the time, it was done to shame him, but now, he thought maybe Jhrvis understood a lot more than Anto had ever imagined. 

“This Omega is not going back. This Alpha is not this Omega’s Alpha. This Alpha never was. This Omega is leaving with this man of the Others. This Alpha will not harm him or try to stop this Omega,” Tony said.

Tyber stared at him incredulously. He growled, low in his throat, and rushed forward, holding his spear aloft. Anto loosed the spear-thrower. The point struck the ground right at Tyber’s feet. He skidded to a stop and stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at Anto, watching as Anto nocked another spear. 

“You would not dare,” Tyber sneered. 

“This Omega would,” Anto said. “I think you know that, Tyber.” 

Tyber stared at him long and hard. Behind him, the other clan shuffled nervously. They didn’t understand what was happening. They had no Memory of anything like this. They knew the weapon was bad and could hurt, but it had been destroyed, and Anto had been banished for two full summers to live on his own, dead to them, and he had come back, so the thing was undone. It shouldn’t exist. He shouldn’t be able to wield it, let alone turn it on an Alpha. None of this should be. Anto could almost sympathize.

Almost.

He adjusted the spear-thrower and waited. Tyber looked to one side, then the other, and seemed to catch the discomfort around him. 

“You can never return,” Tyber said. “You will be dead to everyone. Including Jhrvis.”

“I know,” Anto replied. He was almost surprised how steady and sure his voice sounded. He chanced a quick look at Steve, who was watching him with an intensity that burned warmth into Anto’s chest. He looked at Tyber for a long moment. “And you will be dead to me, too. After this day, this Omega will not think of you again.”

He watched Tyber’s jaw work, his brow slumping with anger, his body practically vibrating with it. Then he made a dismissive noise and turned, thrashing back through the forest while the rest of the clan slowly followed suit. 

Anto stood there until they were long gone, until he felt Steve’s hand on his shoulder, pushing his arm down. His muscles were tight and stiff, and as he lowered the spear-thrower, he almost felt like he would collapse along with it. Steve seemed to understand, peeling his hand off of it and gently pulling Anto into his arms. He stroked his hair and made soft, good noises against Anto’s head, pressing his lips over and over to the top of Anto’s head and rubbing his hands up and down Anto’s back. Anto’s eyes were leaking again, he realized after a moment. He was getting Steve’s shirt all wet. He leaned his head back and peeked up at Steve.

“I love you, Tony. So much,” Steve said. “You’re—you’re incredible. I can’t even—I--I love you so much. So much, Tony.”

“What love mean?” Anto asked. 

“What does…” Steve broke off with a startled laugh. He wiped a hand over his mouth. Anto knew that meant he was nervous. He was learning Steve’s signals, after all. “I’ve waited my whole life to find someone, to fall in love, and when I do, he doesn’t even know what…” he shook his head, though he was beaming a bright smile down at Tony. 

“Steve. What love mean?” Anto asked again, more insistent this time. 

“Love is—love is wanting to be with someone. Wanting to care for them, protect them, provide for them. Wanting them to be happy, even more than you want to be happy. Putting their needs above your own. Being proud of them, excited for them, holding them when they are sad, and trying to make it better, if you can. It’s when you’re happy just being around them. Even if, for example, you don’t understand them and they refuse to even talk to you and run away if you look at them too long, even though they are gorgeous and how can you not stare a bit?” Steve said, all breathless and giddy. “Love is this, Tony. What I feel for you. I can’t…I can’t explain it, exactly, it’s—it’s too much. Too big. Love is the most powerful force in the world. It’s how you find people in the next world. We find the people we love.”

“Tony find Steve,” Anto reminded him.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” Steve agreed.

“Tony have love for Steve, too,” Anto said. “Much big love.”

“Good,” Steve said, smiling broadly. He pressed his lips to Anto’s forehead. That was nice, Anto decided. Not as nice as Steve’s signal, but nice. “Let’s go home.”

They made it off Clan land by nightfall. Steve had no idea, of course, but Anto knew—Tony, he mentally corrected. He was Tony now. A man of the Others. He tugged at Steve’s hand to stop for a moment, and Steve did, giving him a questioning look, but not demanding an answer. Tony looked back for a long time. His entire life had been spent there, and he would never go back. Even if he did, they would not see him. Not even Jhrvis. He looked over at Steve, and reached out to take his hand. He was Steve’s now, and Steve was his, linked somehow, in a way he only barely understood. Maybe a Mog-Ur could tell him, or maybe Jhrvis already had.

The walked on for a while. Tony picked up the occasional plant leaf or berry to sniff and taste and add to his medicine bag or not. It wasn’t much further before Steve called a halt. He set up a small lean-to to block the wind and laid out a bed of furs from his pack. They ate the salted meat that Steve had been able to grab on their hasty departure from the cave that morning and drank from his water bag. They would need to refill it soon, but Steve assured him there was fresh water nearby. He had come this way, he said, and remembered it well. At Tony’s continued questioning, he drew a crude sketch in the dirt of where they were and where the Great Mother River was, with his camp way down at the bottom. Tony studied it a long time. He had never seen anything like it, lines in the sand to represent a river, pointed peaks to represent mountains, tall, thin hashmarks for the forest. He thought it oddly beautiful, but could also see the utility in it.

“It’s a long Journey,” Steve warned, rolling over on the furs and pulling Tony with him so he ended up sprawled on top of Steve. “It won’t be easy. If you want to stop, there are always tribes along the River. We could stay with them for as long as you want.”

Anto didn’t particularly want to stay with other people. He wanted to make it to Steve’s home, where Brus and Tor, and Clint, and Nasha waited. He liked hearing about them in Steve’s stories. “Steve home,” Anto insisted, looking up at Steve. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. He brushed a stray curl of Anto’s forehead. “Tony is home. Wherever you are, that’s home, Tony.” He smiled.

Anto almost tried to correct Steve, then stopped. He buried his face against Steve’s chest, then stretched out his neck a bit, nudging at Steve with his nose. “Steve, Tony-home,” he whispered.

Steve craned his neck up and captured Tony’s mouth in a searing kiss that left Tony dizzy and lightheaded. He smiled, then blinked down at Steve. That was Steve’s signal. Except, Tony had no idea what to do now. Steve had said it was supposed to be different, but Tony didn’t know if that meant maybe he was supposed to assume some other position or do something else entirely. He bit his lip and looked up at Steve from under his lashes.

“Steve signal,” Tony said. 

“Oh,” Steve replied. “Ah. Right. Well, I mean, we don’t have to, if you don’t want to, or—”

“Signal good,” Tony told him. He dipped his head and nudged at Steve’s chest again, then stretched out his neck a bit and spread his legs. It wasn’t quite the invitation position he had learned, but he thought Steve understood. Steve’s body certainly seemed to get it, Tony noticed quickly. “Tony want—want—want share…want good. With Steve. Steve show.”

“You want to share Pleasures?” Steve asked. His voice was low and thick, the words rough, like they almost hurt to say. Tony nodded. “Are you sure?”

Tony flattened his mouth and grunted, then leaned up and pressed his lips to Steve’s. He pulled back and looked down, crossing his arms over Steve’s chest and pillowing his head there. “Tony signal.”

“Oh,” Steve laughed. “Okay. That’s…actually really helpful. Bucky always said I could be really, really oblivious sometimes.”

“No know word. Feels right,” Tony agreed, cocking his head to one side. Steve burst out laughing. Tony couldn’t help but join him. He wasn’t sure what was funny, but he liked the rumble of Steve’s chest as he laughed and the way his eyes crinkled at the edges and he seemed to make the sound with his whole body all at once. 

“Alright then,” Steve said, rolling Tony over onto his back in one, swift motion that nearly knocked the breath out of Tony. He tittered out a laugh and hooked his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling his mouth back down. This time, Steve moved his mouth over Tony’s with deliberation, teasing and nipping at Tony’s lips, his tongue darting out to swipe over the places his teeth had been. Finally, Steve pushed his tongue inside Tony’s mouth, delving deep as Tony arched his back into Steve’s chest and let out a long, low moan that Steve captured in his mouth. Tony felt like his body was on fire, burning from the inside out. He was liquid, boneless, heat and pressure coiling low in his belly. His cock was hard against his thigh, twitching for contact, his hips juddering against Steve’s leg. Warm, thick fluid leaked from his hole onto his shift, coating his bottom as it pooled beneath him. Steve tore his mouth away, leaving Tony panting for air, his hands clutched on the front of Steve’s shirt like claws. 

“Steve,” Tony groaned. “Alpha. _Please_.”

Steve trailed his mouth down Tony’s neck, stopping to suck and nip, then lave with his tongue, until he found the curve of Tony’s neck, where he undid the tie at Tony’s throat and slowly peeled the top of Tony’s shift apart, following the line of skin it revealed with his lips. He pulled back and parted the shift with one hand, letting out a shuddering breath as he looked down at Tony.

Tony had forgotten. Stupid, he thought, annoyed with himself. He reached up and covered the scars at the center of his chest, where the cave bear had marked him as a child, and reached for the edges of the shift to try to hide them. 

“Ugly,” Tony said, casting his eyes down. Steve grabbed his hands and stilled them, pushing them to Tony’s sides. He traced his fingers down the gashes, then looked down at his own leg. Though hidden by his breeches, Tony knew the ones on Steve’s leg matched his own. 

“Do you think I’m ugly?” Steve asked, his voice gentle. Tony shook his head. “You’re beautiful,” Steve told him. “Beautiful Tony.” Tony flushed, warm and tingly. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but he _felt_ beautiful when Steve looked at him. He supposed maybe that was what made it true.

“Can I?” Steve asked. 

Tony nodded. “Please,” he added. 

Steve’s hand hovered over Tony’s belly, then finally settled on his hip, thumb stroking back and forth over the heated skin. Tony felt another rush of liquid heat underneath him and squirmed a bit, spreading his legs and waiting. It would be okay with Steve, he thought to himself. Steve was kind and good, and Tony liked making him happy. That was love. Maybe it was like Steve said, and one day, the Mother would give him a child of Steve’s essence. He would like that. It would be fine, with Steve. He wouldn’t even mind if Steve wanted to share Pleasures a lot, especially if that meant he would have a child of Steve’s essence one day. It wouldn’t be so bad, if—“Oh!” Tony started, nearly sitting up off the furs as Steve’s mouth closed, hot and wet, around his nipple and sucked lightly at the peak, rolling it between his teeth and swirling his tongue around the nub. 

Tony’s hands were in Steve’s hair. He didn’t remember doing that. Steve’s mouth was—it—he—Tony struggled to think. Nipples were for babies. Why was Steve—why would he want to—why did it feel like that? The sensations all blurred in his head. Somehow, Steve’s mouth on his nipple worked heat and pressure to a fine point that ended at the head of Tony’s cock, which thickened and hardened, dripping fluid from the tip that drew patterns against Tony’s leg. 

“St—Steve,” Tony stammered, mindless, overcome. It was too strange, too good, too much, and not nearly enough. Steve pulled his mouth off, and smiled up at Tony. His hand came up from Tony’s hip and rolled the other nipple between his fingers, then flicked at it. Tony jumped, then moaned as Steve’s mouth closed over the stinging peak. He suckled at it, sending shooting, throbbing bursts of bright, hot need down the length of Tony’s cock. Tony’s flesh pebbled and burned. He was on fire. He was drowning. He didn’t know. This was Pleasures, surely. It must be what Steve meant.

Tony felt like his body was on fire, burning from the inside out. He was liquid, boneless, heat and pressure coiling low in his belly. His cock was hard against his thigh, twitching for contact, his hips juddering against Steve’s leg. 

Steve’s mouth finally left Tony’s nipple with a soft, wet popping sound, though Steve kept his head bent to Tony’s chest, pressing his mouth down a trail towards Tony’s stomach, then lower, then—Tony’s mind stuttered, skidded to a halt, hitting some kind of big, white wall of pleasure that crashed into him as Steve kept going, lower and lower, until his mouth touched the tight, reddened skin of Tony’s cock. Steve looked up at him, mouth hovering, lips wet and shiny.

No. He couldn’t. Steve couldn’t. Surely, people didn’t—they couldn’t—Steve couldn’t want to—to do that. Could he?

It was terrible, awful, impossible, and Tony shouldn’t want it, but he did. More than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He couldn’t ask for it, though, he just couldn’t. Tony had no idea what to say or do, but Steve must have found whatever he was looking for in Tony’s expression, because he smiled, a different kind of smile, knowing and teasing and promising and wonderful, then dipped his head again and closed his mouth around Tony’s cock.

Tony’s entire body exploded with pleasure and a deep, hot, throbbing need. He drew his legs up, toes curling into the soft furs beneath him. He couldn’t process it all, not at once. It was like drowning and coming up for air. His throat worked, trying to swallow, and his breaths were coming in sharp, short pants, chest heaving with the effort. Sweat soaked his skin. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted so, so much, but he didn’t know quite what, just more. _More_. More of this, more of Steve. More everything. His hips were thrusting up, seemingly of their own accord, his cock sliding easily in and out of Steve’s mouth. Steve hummed contentedly, and swirled his tongue around the head, flicking over the slit, while white spots burst behind Tony’s eyes when he closed them. A spurt of fluid emptied from his cock, and Steve caught it in his mouth, lazily sucking the last of it out of the tip. Slick was coursing out of him, puddling underneath him and coating his bottom and the small of his back. Steve didn’t seem to care. A hot, thumping pressure was building at the base of Tony’s cock, spiraling down to the head and the heat of Steve’s mouth. 

“Steve! Steve!” Tony chanted, body arching. He was shaking. Floating. Coming apart, splintering into uncountable pieces. His body sagged, boneless and languid, as Steve pulled his mouth off. A long, thin line of saliva clung to his bottom lip and the tip of Tony’s cock, and Tony thought that he might die right then and there if Steve didn’t take him. 

Steve lowered his hand between Tony’s legs and dipped into the viscous pool of slick there, then wrapped around Tony’s cock and gave it a stroke. Tony groaned and tossed his head from side to side.

“Steve, please, please, Alpha, please, I need you, always needed you. So much, Steve. Please. Want you, Steve, please, love you, love you, Steve, love you, please, Tony signal, Tony signal,” Tony mumbled, all sense of what he was saying gone now. He thought some of it was Clan, but he couldn’t figure out what, and he didn’t much care. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, blinking up at the top of the lean-to, unseeing. In his head, there was just Steve. Steve, and feelings he couldn’t name. His cock was hard against his belly, red and swollen and glistening from Steve’s mouth. His hole pulsed, slick coating him, so much of it, so wet, he was never this wet, but it felt like everything was being wrung out of him by Steve’s mouth and hands, and he was a husk, a shell, and he desperately, desperately needed to be filled.

He felt something hard and bluntly rounded at his entrance and sighed, spreading his legs wide with a rough, needy moan. He was ready. So ready. Slick and open and ready for Steve. He felt Steve breach him, fill him. It didn’t even hurt at all. He could barely feel it, in fact, it wasn’t at all like before, but, that was good, that was fine, that was—he stopped and looked down, watching Steve’s hand disappear between Tony’s legs. 

“Just opening you up,” Steve told him. His voice sounded odd. Tight and strained and thick-tongued at the same time. “You’re so tight, Tony, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tony had no idea what he meant by that, but it was good, Steve’s finger working its way in and out of him like that. Like being almost full and empty at the same time, it built up something inside him, something deep and hot that demanded more. He shifted, scooting his hips down, chasing the sensation. He heard Steve huff out a low laugh, and then felt his hole stretch as Steve slid two fingers into him now, and oh. Oh. That was nice. It burned a bit, the way it stretched him, but it was a good feeling, like his body was waking up to something, loosening and taking, aching at the invasion and wanting more. Steve’s hand sped up its pace, in and out of Tony’s body, and he felt like he was sinking, flattening out. His cock pulsed with need, his nipples tingled, arching against the cool, stinging air, and his hole was wet and sloppy around Steve’s fingers. 

“Steve,” he groaned, drawing out the word. His hands fell to his own nipples, rubbing at the sensitive peaks the way Steve had, as Steve pushed three fingers into his slick, welcoming body. 

“You’re beautiful, Tony,” Steve whispered, the words breathy and dazed. 

“Good Tony,” Tony mumbled, twisting his head to the side and closing his eyes against the onslaught of sensation. 

“Good Tony. Very good Tony,” Steve assured him. Tony tossed his arm over his eyes, then dropped it to his side, lifting his hips and spreading his legs wide. He looked down at Steve. Let out a low, rumbling moan that cut off into a high, tight, shocked gasp as Steve did something with his fingers deep inside, twisting them somehow and touching—Tony shot up, eyes wide, a silent shout on his lips, his body taut like he was one of his spears, nocked back and ready for release. 

“Oh!” Tony shouted in surprise, eyes going wide and mouth dropping slack. He fell back against the furs, panting, his mouth hanging slack. Pleasure like nothing he had ever felt lit up inside him, burning through him, down his cock, up his back, through his nipples and stomach, it washed over him in wave after wave. 

“You like that, huh?” Steve huffed out with a low, pleased-sounding laugh. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Tony. So good, I promise.”

“Unh,” Tony managed to half-gasp, half-groan. He tried to speak, but no words came out. He blinked slowly up at Steve, then reached up to wrap his hand around the amulet at his neck. “Alpha,” he husked out, head lolling back against the furs. He hummed with pleasure, body quaking with small tremors. “Steve.”

“I love you, Tony,” Steve said. He reached up to brush the sweat-soaked hair off Tony’s forehead and pressed his lips there. That was one of Steve’s signals. It meant Good Tony, he decided. He nudged at Steve with his nose and bared his neck. That meant Good Steve. Steve would learn, he thought. Steve sat back and undid the ties of his breeches, shoving them down. His cock jutted out from the thatch of dark, coarse hair.

He was big. Tony knew that from when he had cared for Steve’s injured leg, though he had tried not to look. That would have been impolite. Still, he’d had to help Steve make his water at first, and so he knew Steve was big. Bigger than Tyber. But, Tony was so empty, like a wide, open vessel, and there was this deep, unceasing ache inside him. Whatever fear he had was gone, faded to dust and left behind, along with everything else. He was Tony now, and Tony loved Steve, and Steve shared Pleasures with Tony, and it was good. Tony knew it would be good.

Steve lifted Tony’s hips, just a bit, and spread him apart with his hands. Tony groaned, low and deep. His hole felt distended, leaking and sloppy, wide open to Steve’s gaze. He felt Steve’s thumb trace the rim, tugging at it a bit, and Tony rolled his lip into his mouth, then let his hands find his nipples again. He liked that. It hurt a bit, but felt good, and each time he touched his nipples, he could feel it in his cock, like they were connected by a string of ache and need, all twisted together.

The blunt head of Steve’s cock pressed against his entrance, hard and insistent, wet with Tony’s own slick. Tony shuddered. His cock throbbed. His nipples stung. He was so empty. Steve pushed in, Tony’s hole stretching around him, even with everything Steve had done, and it burned and ached, so good, so good. He moaned again, and Steve echoed him, pushing in, past the resistance of Tony’s body, sliding all the way in until he was fully seated, balls slapping against the bottom of Tony’s ass. He grunted, head thrown back, face a mask of ecstasy. Tony’s mouth worked soundlessly, his throat clicking like he could feel Steve at the base of it, he was so deep, so deep inside Tony, like they were one.

“Is this—are you okay, Tony? I’m not hurting you, am I?” Steve asked. He sounded worried.

“Good Steve, good Steve, good Steve,” Tony chanted. His head thrashed from side to side, and he bore down encouragingly, nodding, unable to do more than let unintelligible sounds fall from his lips. Steve grasped Tony’s hips and lifted, pulling out of him almost all the way, then thrusting back in, hard and smooth, the head of his cock finding that spot deep inside Tony that made his body seem to soar. Tony’s body gave way, all resistance gone. He was made for this, for Steve. This was what it was supposed to feel like. This was love and Pleasure and Steve.

Steve’s thrusts sped up, shallow then deep, sometimes hitting the place inside just right, sometimes teasing at it, until Tony thought he would explode with need. It built up, this pressure, this warmth, this insistent, pulsing throb that bordered on pain, then Steve would find the spot inside him and everything would be wiped away by a wave of pleasure, only to start again the next time. Finally, Steve’s thrusts lost their rhythm. His hips juddered and he rolled them, sending a whole new sensation through Tony that made him gasp. He pumped again, then again, bottoming out, Tony’s hole loose and slack around him. He scooped up a handful of slick and wrapped his hand around Tony’s cock, stroking up and down as he thrust again, mimicking the motion, his hand twisting on the head of Tony’s cock just as his angle found that place deep inside Tony one, last time. 

Bright, hot pleasure burst to life inside Tony. His back bowed. His neck arched, driving his head into the furs. He screamed Steve’s name as he came in long, white spurts against Steve’s hand. Steve rammed into him again, then again, and then Tony felt pulses of warmth fill him. Steve pumped again, the cords in his neck standing out as he chased the last of the feeling. 

Finally, he collapsed on top of Tony, breathing hard, his body heavy and warm. Tony stroked Steve’s hair and back. Steve mumbled something against Tony’s shoulder, then rolled them both over off of the wet furs. He somehow managed to scabber a hand for one of the other furs, which he pulled over Tony, humming softly as he tucked it around the edges of Tony’s body. Tony could feel the knot swelling, slowly stretching him, until he thought it might be too big, and then it wasn’t. It was just right. His body settled into it, sending another flush of slick to ease the way. 

Tony absently traced his finger over Steve’s chest. He could feel the flat disc of the amulet between them. He liked that for some reason. He drifted. Not sleeping exactly, but not entirely awake. He wasn’t sure how to describe it. It was good, though. Steve kept touching him. Soft, slow strokes over his skin. It was soothing, the touch. Steve’s scent. He could smell Steve all over himself now. He’d have to wash, but maybe not all of it. He would take his medicine, just while they were traveling. When they got to Steve’s home, he would stop. Maybe the Mother would grant him a baby from Steve’s essence. He would make sure they honored her a lot during the trip, he decided. Or maybe it was spirits that mixed, the way the Clan said. He would be good for Steve, and maybe Steve’s spirit would conquer his, and there would be a child of Steve’s spirit, with Steve’s hair and water-eyes. Tony would like that.

Some time later, he felt the knot start to subside. He shivered, already feeling empty. Steve seemed in no hurry to leave him, but finally, he pressed his lips to the top of Tony’s head, sighed, and pulled out. He moved Tony to one side, wiped himself off and fixed his breeches, then adjusted the furs around him. Tony thought of the wraps the Omegas used to swaddle their babies while they traveled and smiled. Steve came back with the water bag and held it to Tony’s lips until he drank his fill, then pressed a wad of wool between Tony’s legs to absorb the rest of the wetness. Seemingly satisfied, Steve lay down beside him and curled around him, pulling Tony’s back to his chest. Tony toyed with his amulet, tracing the shape on it again and again.

“When I left home,” Steve began, stroking Tony’s hair back in soft, gentle motions, “I never thought I would go back. Bucky was gone, and I—I thought I would do what he always wanted to do. Make a Great Journey. That’s what I told people. Truth is, I never imagined I’d make it this far. All the way to the end of the Great Mother River. It’s what Bucky talked about. It was his dream, not mine, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I’d meet people. Good people. They invited me to stay, become one of their tribe, or I could have turned around. Gone back. But, I never did. Something kept me going.”

“What?” Tony asked, tipping his head back to catch Steve’s eyes. 

“I thought I was leaving home,” Steve replied. “I didn’t know I was going to it this whole time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked it? The only way I know is if you click that kudos button and, hopefully, take a moment to leave a comment. I really do appreciate it. Fics are a labor of love, but they ARE labor. Your feedback is what drives me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to everyone who read, commented and left a kudos. Much appreciated. Hope you enjoyed that little ficlet. I don't know how often I'll fill these requests, but I do still have a number to get to and will do so eventually. Thanks to those of you who sent prompts and have been so patient. 
> 
> Thanks to tastes-like-coconut for the beta and help!
> 
> I'm sabrecmc on tumblr, Discord and twitter.


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